The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree
by SummerRed
Summary: When Emma is seriously injured in an accident, David begins to realise his unexplainable connection to her, leading to far-reaching consequences for both Emma and the residents of Storybrooke, Maine.
1. The Joys of Parenthood

Don' t own Once Upon a Time or its characters.

This isn't really set in any particular episode but is probably going to be more towards the end of the series as it goes on.

* * *

**The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree**

**Chapter One**

**The Joys of Parenthood**

David Nolan didn't have children.

Why, he didn't know; it had never really come up with Kathryn once his memory had returned, and it had been far too awkward to ask her later.

He wondered if it had ever come up between them before, all those years ago.

He wondered if it had, what he'd said.

He wondered if he had ever wanted kids.

Because right now, his heart felt three times too big, and all he could think was, _so this is what it means to be a parent. _

Which in itself was strange, with the child in question actually not being a child but a twenty-eight year old woman who could look after herself pretty damn well, thank you very much.

But there it was, this insane need to protect, so strong it physically hurt him, punching a hole in his chest again and again with every beat of his heart.

Was this what fatherhood felt like?

He didn't know. If it was, he decided he didn't really want to know.

He told himself she wasn't in that much danger. It was fine. All fine. That's what the doctors had told. That's what he'd told Mary Margaret. It's what he would continue to tell himself.

He had been woken by a call from a frantic Mary Margaret, the only words he understood being _Emma, crash, serious._

He was out of the house within four minutes, his truck moving before the door had even shut.

And then he had seen it on his way to the hospital, her little yellow Beetle almost completely crushed at the roadside, the bonnet so pulverised the broken windscreen was only inches from the wall, glass scattered around it like snow.

He had tried to ignore the blood staining it.

And now here he was, sat on a hard chair in a grim corridor waiting for the outcome of a life-saving operation. Emma's life-saving operation.

He hated those words more than anything. He hated words in general at the moment, for they all seemed intent on breaking his heart.

"How long has it been?" a hoarse voice asked.

He turned slightly, looking up unsurprised.

"I thought you were going home to rest," he said softly, taking in Mary Margaret's dishevelled appearance; face drawn, hair ruffled, eyes haggard and red.

"I took once step inside and came right back out," she said quietly, sitting beside him and leaning back against the wall. "How long?"

He didn't even glance at his watch.

"Just over six hours."

She nodded once, closing her eyes.

Without warning, a tear leaked out.

David moved immediately, instinctively, pulling her to his chest and holding her there, smoothing her back, cupping her face so as to wipe her rapidly falling tears.

"I don't even know why you're here," she said in a trembling voice. "I just got the call and I-I didn't even think, I just-"

"It's natural for you to want comfort," he said soothingly, whilst internally he raged at himself.

"No," she said firmly, gripping his shirt and looking up at him, her gaze intense. "No it was like-like you _deserved _to be here, like you had to know."

His heart rate spiked, the feeling he was trying to fight going right to the forefront of his mind.

"I don't even know her that well," he muttered. "Not like you."

"I know!" she spat, pulling out of his arms. "I know that, and I know I'm crazy, and I don't care! You need to be here, David! She needs you here!"

She realised what she'd said, eyes widening.

"I don't-" he started, those loathed words failing him. "She-"

"I love her, David," she said brokenly, eyes full of pain, "I love her, and I can't lose her."

"I know," he whispered, tears suddenly falling from his own eyes, burning their way down his cheeks. "I really do."

Mary Margaret stared at him, mouth dropping open. "You do too, don't you?"

He wanted to deny, he really did, but he couldn't.

Instead he said, "Not in…in _that _way, not the way I love you. I love her…like a dad would, and I don't-I don't know why." He paused, licking his lips nervously, aware of Mary Margaret's unwavering scrutiny; though she looked more awed than disgusted or furious as he had feared she would. "I love her so much that it has been killing me sitting her for those six hours and twenty-two minutes and not knowing whether or not she's going to come through those doors alive. And I don't know why," he repeated, feeling so lost, his gaze beseeching Mary Margaret for answers.

"You feel it too?" she breathed, a small smile forming. "Like she's part of you? Like she's your…?" She hesitated, before steeling herself and asking, "Like she's your daughter?"

"Yes," he answered immediately, almost smiling in relief. "I feel it so much it hurts right now."

"In the book," she burst out, sure she was about to regret what she was going to say, convinced she was crazy, but continuing anyway, "Henry said that Emma was the Saviour, and that her parents-Snow White and James-sent her here to protect her."

David frowned at her worriedly, but she took no notice, waving him away as he opened his mouth, speaking quickly.

"Henry told me that he thought I was Snow White, and that you-well that you were James. Prince Charming."

The corridor was silent.

His initial reaction was to suggest that she go get some rest for real this time, maybe find a sedative for her. His second was to splutter and gape at her.

His reaction was not to nod, take a deep breath and say, "Then I guess Henry's right."

She smiled, threading her fingers through his.

And then all Hell broke loose.


	2. Chaos in the Corridor

Just a few little notes before we go on.

There are some medical things in this chapter, and I am obviously not a doctor, nor do I know anything about operations or medical terminology apart from what I hear on Holby City, so apologies for anything that's wrong.

Also, I have exams coming up and a lot of revision so I'm not sure when the next update will be, although it hopefully shouldn't be too long.

Finally, I'd like to thank everyone who's read, reviewed, favourited, and story-alerted this; it means a lot and makes me smile, so thank you again.

And now on with the chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**Chaos in the Corridor**

Snow wasn't really sure what to expect when she remembered.

Maybe seeing her home again, opening her eyes to the castle.

Instead, it was a dull, sterile corridor in Storybrooke hospital.

Still, she could live with that.

She had hoped it would be in the arms of her husband, which it was.

For that she was grateful.

She had also hoped it would be followed by a hug from her daughter, maybe even seeing her face for the first time in twenty-eight years, so as to complete the reunion.

It was this wish which made the small triumph of remembrance so bitter.

She was Snow, he was Charming, yet here they were, stuck in another world, their daughter in danger, their enemy undefeated.

But they were together. That was all she needed for now. The rest would come in due course.

So instead of being heralded by the sounds of her home world, she was startled into awareness as the doors at both ends of the corridor banged open, those leading away from the operating theatre opening so hard they slammed into the wall, plaster drifting gently to the floor, so at odds with the tense atmosphere, with Doctor Whale hurrying from the others, looking tired yet pleased.

"Where's Emma? Is she here? What's happening?" Henry stuttered, flying to where they sat, an aggrieved Regina following behind.

"Henry," Snow started softly, ignoring the tremble in her voice. She held her arms open to him and he stumbled forward, burying his head in her jacket.

"Is she ok?" he asked tremulously.

Snow found herself unable to answer, too caught up in the thought that she was holding her grandchild. Her _grandchild. _

"Emma's going to be fine, Henry," James cut in quickly, throwing a worried glance at Snow.

"Well perhaps Doctor Whale can tell us more," Regina said smoothly, her face once again as impassive as stone.

It took all Snow had not to leap up and throttle her.

Instead, she shifted Henry to the side, sitting him down and stroking his hair, all the while keeping her eyes on Doctor Whale.

"The operation was a success, but there were complications. She's heavily sedated, probably won't be awake for a few hours if you want to go home," he said quickly, darting nervous looks at Regina.

"Can we see her?" Henry sniffled.

Again, Doctor Whale turned to Regina.

"Of course we can," Snow interrupted, rising to her feet, pulling both James and Henry up with her. "I know the protocol here; it's fine."

"I'm not so sure-" the doctor started.

"Which room?" Snow asked bluntly as James bit back a smile.

Before he could answer, the doors opened once again and he felt the half-smile slip from his lips immediately.

"Oh, Emma," Snow breathed, turning Henry subtly so he wouldn't see the bruises and cuts marring Emma's body, nor the heavy bandage covering her forehead, and holding him tight.

James started forward unconsciously, dropping Snow's hand.

She barely noticed.

Despite her various injuries, Emma looked peaceful, her hair pushed to one side; it reminded him of how Snow had looked in that glass coffin.

Pushing away _that _thought, fighting to regain control of his breathing, he heard Doctor Whale speak again.

"She was bleeding internally when they brought her in but she'd already lost a lot of blood. We've given her a transfusion but she's not out of the woods yet. The next few hours are critical," he explained quietly. "If she makes it through the night, she should be fine."

"You don't exactly sound certain," Snow muttered.

James ignored them all, following the nurses as they wheeled Emma around a corner, his heart pounding painfully.

He watched silently as they took her into a separate room, just off the main corridor, one remaining to hook her up to various machines, attaching wires, inserting an oxygen tube gently, speaking softly to her all the while.

He pushed open the glass door, hesitating as she turned to him.

"Can I sit with her?" he asked hoarsely.

"Are you family?"

"Not…not exactly. She has no family, except for her son but he's only ten, and I don't want him to see her like this, and I don't want her to be alone," he blurted, staring at her with a deer-stuck-in-the-headlights expression.

She smiled in understanding, gesturing to the chair opposite her.

"Of course. She won't respond but she should be able to hear you, though she may not remember much of what you say."

"Right. Thank you."

"I'll be just outside if you need me," she said gently, giving him one last sweet smile and closing the door behind her, silencing the argument he could hear building in the corridor.

Wary of the beeping machines before him, James moved the chair gingerly, sitting as lightly as he could and continually glancing at the wires so as not to pull on them.

He forced himself to speak.

"I know that…that you don't really know me here, don't really like me either, but I deserve that, or he did, David, well me, I don't really-" He cut off, once again trying to catch his breath, sorting his thoughts. "I remember David's life, so I suppose he's me. In a way," he added quickly. "But when you wake up, I swear I am going to tell you everything. About your home, your family, your heritage. I'll talk to you as your father, not the patient you found wandering in the woods, or hurting your mother. Mary Margaret. Whoever."

He paused again, wondering whether he should just sit silently.

After twenty-two seconds of not talking he started again; it was the noises the machines made, he told himself, they were distracting; it was _not_ because he was afraid of talking to his daughter.

"I know you've had a hard life. And I am so sorry for that, more sorry than I can ever attempt to make up for. All the apologies in this world and ours will never be enough. I'm sorry for that, too. But, Emma, I promise you now, I am going to be there for you, and for Henry, and we're going to make this right."

He made a face, wiping at the tears he hadn't noticed falling. Suddenly unsure, he reached his free hand forward, taking Emma's as gently as he could, resting it lightly on the bed.

"I don't know what to talk about. I don't know what you want to hear. Probably Snow, but I think she might be a bit busy killing Regina at the moment. I don't even know if you can hear me. If you can, no doubt you'll think I've lost my mind."

He looked at her then, as if for the first time, trying to align her face to the baby's he had held all those years ago.

_She found you. You told her to find you, and she did. She's here, she's her. Emma found you. _

He suddenly knew what he had to talk about.

"I'll tell you a story, to make up for all those nights I couldn't read you a bedtime story."

He wondered quickly what to tell her; his story? He was sure she'd know it already, and how he came to meet Snow.

Instead he decided on one far more personal. One no one knew.

"I'll tell you your story, Emma, right from the very beginning when your mother first told me she was carrying you, but you already know the end, and it's not a happy one. I'll tell you a different ending, one that's still in motion right now, being written as I'm sat here with you. Henry's book won't tell you about the in-between parts though. Beginning to end I'll tell you everything. But first, I want you to know how much I loved you, right from the start, and I am so proud of you, and I am so sorry for everything that has happened to you," he whispered, repeating his apology, and wondering how many more times he would have to before the guilt and pain eased.

_Never, it will never end, you told her so yourself. _

He cleared his throat, not even attempting to stop the flow of tears, and said softly, "Once upon a time…"

* * *

Out in the corridor, the real fight was just getting started.

"Now, Miss Blanchard, Doctor Whale has done all he can, the rest is down to Miss Swan," Regina said with a smirk, as though she very much doubted Emma's ability to recover.

"I don't believe I was talking to you, _Madam Mayor,_" Snow snarled, tightening her grip on Henry's hand. Regina's smirk disappeared instantly, her mouth curling as she bared her teeth slightly in a poor imitation of a calm smile.

If only she could rip the stupid girl's throat out with her teeth; that would solve a great many problems.

"I have other patients, excuse me," Doctor Whale muttered hurriedly, practically running from between the two women.

"Miss Swan destroyed public property, it is my duty to be here," Regina countered calmly, though her eyes flashed at Snow's continued defiance.

Mary Margaret was never usually so rebellious. True, she had some bite to her, but no real fight in her.

Regina had hoped to destroy that entirely. Maybe one day she would.

The thought made her smile become genuine.

"In case you haven't noticed, she's unable to answer your questions right now. I'm sure she'll get back to you when she can," Snow answered sweetly, smiling in return, though her gaze was as cold as ice.

Henry stood open-mouthed, twisting his head from one woman to another as they spoke, wondering who he should be more scared of at that moment.

"Oh, no worries, I can wait. Besides, my son is here, and my place is with him."

"His place is with his mother, and I don't want you anywhere near her so I guess you'd better get used to this hospital; it's all you're going to be seeing for a while."

Regina laughed slightly, curling her lip back in distaste. "Is that a threat, Miss Blanchard?"

"More a warning," Snow replied coolly, turning away from Regina. "If I were you I'd heed it. Come on, Henry."

"Take your hands off my son," Regina snapped, darting forward to grab Henry's free hand and snatching him away from Snow, ignoring his cries of pain and indignation.

"He is not your son!" Snow exclaimed, laughing pityingly. "He never was. And you just can'taccept that, can you? He doesn't want you, Regina. He wants her."

"Like she wanted him all those years ago? Like she wanted him when she gave him away? Like she wanted him when she decided she never wanted to see him again?" Regina spat, wrapping an arm around Henry's neck and holding him close to her. He struggled, trying to free himself, but she seemed not to notice.

"She was young; you have no right holding that against her now!"

"She wasn't ready then, she isn't ready now; she has no right to Henry."

"And you do?" Snow cried, torn between amusement and disbelief.

"I have raised him for ten years, I may not be his blood, but I sure as hell am his mother," Regina sneered, yet again tightening her hold upon the boy.

"Let go!" Henry yelled, yanking at Regina's wrists to no avail.

"Miss Swan should never have come to Storybrooke, it was a mistake-"

"Henry brought here her," Snow snapped. "He wanted to meet her, he always talked about her."

"It was a mistake," Regina repeated forcefully.

"He hates you!" Snow burst out, unable to contain herself anymore. "He hates you, and you have no one to blame but yourself! Look at him, Regina, look at how he's fighting to get away from you!" She took a deep breath, calming herself and adding quietly, "You're a terrible step-mother, you always were. You failed us both, and now, Madam Mayor, you're going to pay."  
Her grip went limp, allowing Henry to pull away from her and run to Snow.

"Are you hurt?" Snow murmured, placing her hands gently on his shoulders and checking him for injuries.

"I'm ok. I want to see Emma," he said softly, taking her hand and leading her towards Emma's room.

Regina stood frozen, her eyes wide in horror as she stared after her step-children. Snow remembered. How could she remember? She had driven a wedge between her and David, never allowed Henry to stay behind with her anymore; nothing could have returned her memories of her previous life.

There was something, something she was missing, something crucial that could mean the difference between success and defeat, maybe even life or death if it came down to it.

She sat heavily, her legs giving out beneath her.

She forced herself to think clearly, running through what she knew.

Snow had been here already, with David-did David remember? She hoped not, that would mean only more trouble-waiting for Emma.

But she was sure there was one person who could possibly reunite the two, the link that would surely return their memories.

The child, the daughter, the Saviour.

Regina laughed breathlessly to herself.

Of course; the clock, the curse's weakening power, Henry's insolence, all of the trouble in Storybrooke had started the moment that woman had decided to stay.

The final battle had begun.

Her laugh grew stronger, echoing down the empty corridor as she stood, straightening her shirt; of all the people to be the Saviour, how fortunate for her that it was Emma Swan.

Destroying her would be only too easy.

"Well, Miss Swan," she said with a smug smile, her worries already calmed, "it would seem that the game is on."


	3. The Waiting Game

Only a small update I'm afraid, and again I'm not sure when the next will be with revision, mocks and exams all in the nearby future.

Like before, there are a few medical things and I still know nothing about it, so apologies if anything below is completely wrong.

Enjoy the chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Three **

**The Waiting Game**

Before anyone realised, three weeks had passed.

James told stories, Snow seethed, Henry visited with a permanent frown, and Regina stood silently watching over them all.

Time seemed all too precious, with twenty-eight years already lost, and ever more trickling away.

"Isn't there any more you can do?" Snow had asked desperately, clutching at Emma's free hand; her other was always held by James.

"Wait," was all Doctor Whale would say.

And so they waited. And waited. And waited.

Another three weeks later, James found himself going hoarse.

"There has to be something," Snow said distractedly, pacing from one side of the room to the other. "There has to be some magic in this world."

James' voice broke off in a cough, his story unfinished.

"We have to be patient, Snow," he mumbled, reaching for a glass of water. "She found us. Now she's going to come back to us."

"I feel so helpless," she whispered.

"I know, I do too, but-did you see that?" James asked fervently, half-rising out of his chair.

"See what?"

"Her hand. She squeezed my fingers, did you see?"

"No, I-I wasn't looking," Snow replied, her voice shaking with uncertainty; the state her mind was in she could have been staring at Emma's hand the whole time and still have missed it.

"Get Doctor Whale," he ordered, glancing from Emma's hand to her face.

Snow nodded, and left hurriedly.

"I'm here, Emma," James breathed, applying the lightest pressure to her fingers. "Can you hear me? Can you squeeze my hand again? Come on, Emma, I know you can, and I bet you're just ignoring me now."

This time he was left with no doubt; her fingers twitched, clenching around his, her other hand curling into a fist.

"Does it hurt? Is something wrong?" he asked, his tone fast turning frantic. "Where is your mother?" He took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself. "Alright, Emma, if it hurts, squeeze once, if not twice."

He paused, his heart pounding so hard he feared it would soon burst out of his chest. After what seemed an eternity, she squeezed his fingers weakly.

Once. Twice.

He nearly fainted in relief. "You hold on, the doctor's coming. Stay awake, Emma."

She groaned softly, her eyelids fluttering as she stirred.

"Good girl, Emma. Keep still though; you might hurt yourself. You stay with me, alright? Everything is going to be fine, I promise you."

She choked suddenly, retching as best she could flat on her back, her chest arching up.

"Nurse!" James yelled, leaping fully to his feet so fast his chair flew back, landing on the floor with a metallic _thud_.

_The tube, _he told himself, _get the tube out. _

"How the hell am I supposed to do that?" he cried, glancing back towards the door. "Nurse! Doctor Whale!"

And still Emma choked, her breaths becoming pained gasps, each one more laboured than the next. Her hands scrambled uselessly at her sides, whether from her injuries or weakness he couldn't tell.

James steadied his own breathing, stilling his trembling hands as he reached forward, one hand grasping the tube firmly, the other at Emma's lips.

"One, two, three," he whispered, pulling as quickly as he dared, sliding the tube through his fingers, tilting back Emma's head when her coughs became too pronounced, inch by inch until finally it was free.

She gasped, taking in huge lungfuls of air, her hands gripping the sheet beneath her so hard her knuckles were white.

"Emma?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"You didn't…finish the…story," she rasped, her words slurred and half-whispered, her voice far hoarser than his, though from disuse rather than overuse.

Her eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused but utterly awake.

James laughed breathlessly, a sob catching in his throat as he leaned over to kiss her forehead, a lone tear rolling down his cheek.

"What happened?" Snow cried, slamming the door open, Doctor Whale on her heels.

"Where have you been?" he snarled at the doctor as Snow ran to her daughter's side, smiling down at her tearfully.

"I was caught up in-"

"Mary Margaret?" Emma asked in a rough voice, staring up at her wearily.

"Regina was paying him a visit," Snow cut in brusquely, touching Emma's cheek with the back of her hand. "I'm here, Emma. Everything's going to be alright."

"What perfect timing," James said coolly.

"I must ask you to leave for a moment while I check Miss Swan over," Doctor Whale said in a voice of forced calm.

"Why? I was the one who treated her in the first place," James snapped.

"Just for a moment."

"Ch-_David_, come on. We'll be just outside, we can still see," Snow soothed, taking his arm and leading him out of the room.

"What did Regina want?" he asked immediately.

"She wouldn't say properly, just called it mayor business."

James snorted. "Of course it was."

"There's no magic here, how could she have done something?"

"I'm not saying she used magic," James admitted grudgingly. "But she knew exactly when to go to Doctor Whale, right when Emma needed him. You said she has eyes everywhere; at least now we now it's true."

"Did you doubt it anyway?" she asked sadly.

James grimaced but said nothing.

Snow hesitated before saying quietly, "You saved her life in there."

"I had no idea what I was doing. I could hear how much pain she was in, and I just needed to stop it, I acted on pure instinct. I was terrified I was killing her," he added brokenly.

"You did brilliantly," Snow said gently, taking his hand and kissing it. "Now you're a saviour too. Must run in the family."

He chuckled slightly, feeling lighter than he had in weeks.

"Mary Margaret," Doctor Whale called from the doorway. "You can come back in now."

"Is she alright?" she asked quickly as they followed him into the room.

"When she started to regain consciousness she could breathe on her own; she didn't need the oxygen tube so her body rejected it. I owe you an apology for not coming sooner. However, I also owe you a congratulations, Mr Nolan. If it weren't for your…quick-thinking, I'm afraid Miss Swan would have only added to her injuries."

"Thank you," James said neutrally, though his eyes remained cold.

"I'll leave you three alone," he said awkwardly, shifting away from James' hard stare. "I'll have a nurse check up on her hourly for now."

He took his leave, closing the door and sighing in relief.

Inside, Snow fussed over Emma as James took his seat at her side.

She reached for him immediately, her fingers closing over his for once.

Her hand was clumsy, trembling and cold, but her grip was surprisingly strong. He covered it with his other hand, wishing he could do more for her.

She stared at him, tears leaking out of the corner of her eyes and dripping into her hair.

"Thank…you," she whispered, her throat beginning to ache as the shock subsided.

"Would you like some water, Emma?" Snow asked gently.

Emma nodded, looking distinctly childlike as she lay in her bed, her father sat beside her.

Snow found herself blinking back tears hurriedly.

"Here," she said, and after a few attempts, Emma had drunk her fill, settling her head back against the pillow.

"You gave me a real scare there," James said with a small smile.

She stared at him confusedly, as though she knew him as one person but saw another.

He tried not to dwell on that; she was still far too ill for a serious explanation.

"Henry?"

"He's at home. He'll be back in the morning; he visits you every day before school."

Emma smiled and nodded, though disappointment was written all over her face.

"Why don't you try sleep for a little while?" he suggested softly as her eyes began to close.

She opened them quickly, meeting his concerned gaze.

"Will you-please-finish…?"

He grinned at her, his entire face lighting up as she smiled tiredly back at him, her fingers tightening around his.

"Of course. Where were we? Oh yes, so my father told me not to let go of the reins, that the reins were my lifeline-which they are, Emma, should you ever ride a horse; never let go of the reins-and so off we went…"

Snow sat down herself, watching her husband and daughter with a sad smile.

This was how it should have been.


	4. Princess Emma of Disneyland

Don't own the show, its characters, or anything else mentioned below.

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**Princess Emma of Disneyland**

Yet another week passed, though Emma was conscious for most of it, casting furtive glances at her pa-

Damn it, no. Were they her parents?

She wasn't sure anymore.

For all the time she had slept-yeah, right, she'd been unconscious; sleep implied having the ability to wake up-David's voice had been in her thoughts, calming her trapped mind, lulling her into a limbo-like sleep, weaving her dreams of castles and dragons and magic, all the while a constant presence, something safe and sturdy for her to hold onto whenever she felt herself floating away.

It was hard for her to tell herself he wasn't her father when it felt so natural to have him tell her stories, hold her hand, kiss her forehead; it was everything she had ever wanted as a child.

Before her crash, she was Emma Swan, Daughter of None.

Now she was Princess Emma, daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, Saviour of-

Where did they even come from?

If it was all real, which of course it wasn't, don't be so stupid.

She tried to remember fairytales she'd heard, frowning out the window.

Fantasia?

No, she was pretty sure that was Disney. Or was it the Never-Ending Story?

That didn't feel right.

Neverland?

Peter Pan wasn't a fairytale anyway. She quite liked that idea though.

_Please send to Emma Swan, the Jolly Roger, Neverland, Second Star to the Right and Straight on till Morning._

She laughed to herself, incredibly amused, far more than she should have been.

Damn, the drugs were good.

Snow glanced over at her worriedly, pausing her floristry; it seemed more people cared about Emma than she realised, her room was full of flowers, half of which were from people she hadn't even heard of.

Emma paid Snow no notice.

Where was Shrek from? Maybe she was from there. She liked that idea too.

Did they have ogres in wherever the hell it was?

God, she hoped not.

What if it was like Enchanted-so she'd seen it once, shut up-and they were all cartoon characters?

_Screw that_, she thought to herself, alarmed. _I'm renaming it; princess privilege._

She could just call it Neverland, make her wish come true.

Were wishes Peter Pan's thing?

She made a note to herself to ask Henry. And commandeer the story book from him. And see if he had a copy of Peter Pan.

To hell with it all; she was naming it Disneyland and if they didn't like it, tough. Least this way she got to be a Disney Princess, just like her Mo-

"I'm going to pick Henry up," Snow said brightly, jolting Emma out of her thoughts; she'd forgotten Mary Margaret-_not Mom, definitely not Mom_-was even there.

David hadn't been in to see her yet.

She wasn't disappointed…not _that_ much anyway.

She felt childish in a way she never had before; she was waiting for her Dad to come back, just as all normal kids with normal parents did, sitting at the window waiting for their parent's car to pull up from work.

And, despite the fact she would never admit it aloud to anyone, uniting David as Dad was far easier than Mary Margaret as Mom.

She loved Mary Margaret to bits, she'd already said she was like her family…but she was still Mary Margaret.

True, she'd noticed slight differences; more steel in her, easier smiles, even parts of herself at times which was the scariest of all. But they were still similar, already blurring into one person.

But Charming wasn't David.

He was sweet, and kind, and made her Mom laugh when she was about to cry.

She liked that the most.

She frowned, throwing the imaginary brakes on at that thought.

Oh God. It was real. It was really real.

Or she was going crazy.

Or she'd overdosed herself on painkillers.

She wanted to go with the latter.

"Emma?" Snow prompted softly. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, it's fine, see you later," she choked out, reaching for her water like it was thirst that was blocking her throat, not a big, fat lump of emotion.

She had found her parents. After so long, and so much searching and heartache and practically giving up, she had found them.

Or, rather, Henry had.

Snow smiled, picking up her bag and leaving Emma alone for the first time in what felt like ages.

It was too quiet.

Right away that's what got her.

Before Doctor Whale, on Regina's orders of course, had kicked off about visitors, there had always been someone with her, in addition to David-James-Dad-Person beside her.

Now she hated it automatically.

She'd been alone for years living in silence, and it had never bothered her before, why the hell was it now?

_Because you're not alone anymore. _

She grimaced, quickly turning it into a smile when a passing nurse frowned at her worriedly.

It slid off her face as the nurse entered, unconvinced.

"Everything ok in here?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired," she admitted, and for once she was telling the truth; all she ever felt lately was tired.

Maybe the drugs did have a downside.

"All part of getting better," the nurse said with a laugh. "Sleep is the best medicine."

"I thought it was supposed to be laughter," Emma muttered.

The nurse smiled again in understanding. "Rest, Miss Swan. You'll feel all the-oh hello again, Mr Nolan," she added brightly, beaming down the corridor.

_Back off, lady, he's taken, _Emma growled to herself, narrowing her eyes at the nurse.

"Hi," James said shyly, pausing outside her room.

The nurse-what was her name? Had she ever asked? Did she even care?-didn't move, effectively barring the doorway as she continued to grin at him.

"Hey, come on in," Emma called, her glare becoming a polite smile as the nurse turned.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said quickly, sauntering forward and brushing her arm against James' as she moved out of the way, simpering at him all the while. "I'll leave you two alone."

"Goodbye," he said, frowning slightly as he entered the room and closed the door. He waited a moment before saying, "Was she…?"

"Oh yeah," Emma said slowly. "She is definitely into you."

"And are you…?"

"Scarred for life? Yep."

He chuckled, pulling off his jacket as he took his seat.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm good. Still tired, but you know, otherwise good. D'you know when they'll let me out? I'm going crazy in here."

"I'm not sure. I think they have S-Mary Margaret down as your contact," he finished hurriedly, hoping she hadn't noticed his slip.

Emma took a deep breath, preparing herself for whatever she was letting herself in for, before saying, "I know. I mean, I always knew but I believe now, I know for sure it's true, so you don't have to keep pretending."

James froze, his eyes widening as he took in her words.

She panicked instantly. "Oh my God, is it not real? Is it the drugs? I thought it might be that too. Maybe it was the head injury. I'd go with the drugs though."

"What?" he asked confusedly. "What drugs?"

"I don't know but I think I'm going to stop talking now."

She blushed, something she hadn't done since she was a kid, looking anywhere but at him.

"You get that from your mother," he said softly. "It takes a lot to make her blush, but when she does you can see it for miles."

It was her turn to freeze. She said nothing, wishing he'd continue.

"You're so much like her. I always knew you would be. I always wanted you to be."

"I'm not," she blurted, finally looking up and meeting his gaze shamefacedly. "I'm a screw up. Everything I touch turns to crap, I run away, and the one good thing that came from my life I gave away. And she's…well she's who she is, and she's good and strong and brave, and I'm none of those things."

"That is _not_ true," he said firmly. "You are the strongest person I know. You are brave, you have compassion. Emma, you're a born leader, and not just because of your bloodline. Everything that's happened to you has made you the person you are today, and I am so proud of you," he finished in a ragged voice, hoping he wouldn't start crying in front of her.

"I'm nothing to be proud of," she whispered, and there it was. Her biggest fear, the reason she had ultimately decided to stop looking for her parents. In her mind, they hadn't wanted her when she was a tiny, harmless baby; why the hell would they want her now in all her ruined glory?  
She was a mess, a liability, something to be hidden and shamed, not looked upon with fondness or pride.

What parents would weep with joy if she turned up on their doorstep?

Sure, maybe before she sat them down and told them her history. After that she'd be kicked to the kerb, the door locked behind her as they turned their backs on her again.

She was better off alone. No one could hurt her then.

"Emma, you listen to me," he ordered, and she did, gasping for breath as it all hit her.

He reached for her instinctively, stopping himself with a grimace before he touched her hand, worried he would frighten her away. She took his instead, holding onto it as though it were her lifeline, tying herself to him all over again. In her mind, she was lost at sea, waves coming in from all sides in the shape of her being from another world, being some kind of hero and saviour, Regina being some kind of arch enemy with magic; he was her anchor, he was the person who kept her connected. Whether she liked it or not, she needed him, just as she had her whole life. The only difference was now he was here and he would never leave her again.

And that was why neither let go.

"You are nothing to be ashamed of. If anything, I should be ashamed for not protecting you better, for causing all of this in the first place. It was not your fault you were sent here, you did the best you could, and I am so sorry that I was never here for you. I know you're scared, and you know what, I am too. The last time I saw you back home you had just been born, and now you're all grown up. And that scares the hell out of me, because I don't know how to be a dad."

"You've been doing a pretty good job so far," she mumbled, embarrassed, giving him the smallest of smiles.

He snorted, glancing down at their hands. "Thank you."

"I'm sorry this is weird for you. I mean it is for me too but…I'm sorry I grew up without you. I'm sorry for what you lost."

"You lost it too," he said gently.

She had no reply for that.

"What made you believe anyway?" he asked gruffly, wondering when he'd become such an emotional wreck.

"You," she said simply. "Your stories. Your voice. I'd never felt anything about the curse, it was all just to humour Henry. But when I was asleep or unconscious or whatever I was, I was scared and alone, and you were there. You kept me sane, and you were home. It felt right. Despite everything, you're my dad, and I'm ok with that. I want that."

He opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off before he could even speak.

"How touching, Miss Swan," Regina murmured from the doorway, her arms folded across her chest. "And with that confession, I think that it's about time you were discharged. It would seem you and I have a lot to talk about, _Saviour_."


	5. Dealing with the Devil

Hello! I had hoped to have a new chapter up sooner but everything went a bit insane with my exams; one more this week and then I'm finished, so hopefully updates should be quicker as of Friday.

Anyway, on with the chapter, hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

**Dealing with the Devil**

"You gonna carry me out, _Your Majesty?_ In case you haven't noticed, I'm bedridden," Emma said calmly, though her free hand curled into a fist, the other squeezing James'.

"Of course I noticed; I'm the one that put you there," Regina replied coolly, walking towards her slowly, the door still ajar_, _barely even glancing at James who had risen immediately from his chair, eyeing her warily. "At the time, I didn't have a poisoned apple at my disposal; a coma seemed like the next best thing."

"Why not just put a bullet in my brain? Simpler, quicker," Emma said with a shrug, finding she actually wasn't that scared, more that she wanted to beat the crap out of Regina with her bare hands.

She just needed to get out of the bed first.

"If you die the curse breaks, we all go home," Regina said casually, as though discussing the weather. "I didn't want that. However, should you be alive but…inactive, the curse remains intact and I remain on top."

"Kinky," Emma muttered, shaking her hand loose from James' and bracing her arms on either side of her, slowly pushing herself up the bed. "Does Henry know about your little scheme?"

"Unlike you, I know how much to tell my ten year old son."

Emma pulled a face, moving her legs beneath the covers, wincing at how heavy they felt; she was going nowhere fast.

"Fair enough," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady despite her exhaustion. "Shame he was right behind you the whole time you were talking. Keeping secrets from him and all, really worked out well for you."

Regina whirled around, incredulous, with a distinct deer-stuck-in-the-headlights-expression as she met Henry's troubled gaze, Snow standing behind him, her lips thin.

"I knew it," he snapped. "I knew I was right, I knew you were the Evil Queen!"

She darted forward, falling to her knees in front of him and taking his hands in her own.

"Henry, what I did, I did for you, for us both-" she started in an urgent voice.

"NO!" he yelled, snatching his hands away and stumbling backwards, bumping into Snow. "You did it for yourself. You do everything for yourself."

She rose to her feet, staring at Henry with something akin to heartbreak.

Before she could say anything, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

She turned, coming face-to-face with a severely pissed off Emma, partially propped up by James.

"You know the drill by now," Emma said in a low voice, before lurching forward, her fist catching Regina in the temple, throwing her to the floor.

"Time to go," Snow said quickly, taking Henry's hand and pulling him away, glancing back to check James could handle Emma.

"No way, you're not carrying me," she hissed, limping her way out of the room, hunched over with imbalance, her entire world spinning.

Oh God, she hoped she didn't throw up. That would be all she needed.

"There isn't time for you to walk," James snapped, pausing for a moment to grab beneath her knees and hoist her into his arms.

"This is just plain embarrassing," she muttered, turning her head away from curious eyes.

"You know, when I carried you to that wardrobe you were considerably less heavy," he said in a strained voice, trying to hurry but not jostle Emma at the same time.

"Shut up," she said in an exasperated voice, sighing in annoyance, though it quickly turned into a hiss of pain. "I feel like an idiot."

"You look like one too," Snow called back to her with a smile, though her eyes remained worried.

"Thanks," Emma replied dryly as she looked around her, darting from one face to another, wondering which were Regina's spies.

It was taking too long, Regina would be up and after them before they even left the hospital.

"One more turn," James promised, and there were the doors, just a few steps away, so close now, the doors thrown open, Henry clear, Snow clear, and then they were free too, scrambling over to James' truck, flinging the doors open, placing Emma as delicately as he could inside, the rest of them piling in through the other door, and they were off.

"We need to get you out of Storybrooke," he told her in a rushed voice, glancing every few seconds in his mirror.

"You can't leave, none of us can," Henry cried, noticing Emma had suddenly turned extremely pale.

"We'll have to chance it, we need to get Emma away from here now," Snow cried, gripping onto the bottom of her seat as they spun around a corner.

"Yeah, that's a great plan, but we can't do it," Emma said quietly. "I have run away from everything all of my life. I am not running away from her."

"You're in no way strong enough to fight her now," James explained slowly, frowning as she slumped to the side, one hand pressed against her stomach.

"Well apparently I'm your best shot at beating her; if I'm screwed so are you," she mumbled, leaning her forehead against the glass.

"Don't say th-"

"Charming, look out!" Snow shrieked, and James slammed on the brakes, the car squealing to a halt, stopping just short of a smirking Regina.

"It was foolish of you to run," she said clearly, hands buried in her pockets. "Now get out of the car."

"Emma, don't," Henry said under his breath, gripping her wrist.

She held his gaze for a moment, her heart breaking all over again.

It seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

"Sorry, kid," she whispered, opening the door and almost falling out, catching her balance at the final moment.

As soon as she shut the door, the locks clicked.

"The windows," Snow gasped, but they were both stuck.

James snarled, smashing his elbow against the glass.

"Nothing," he said sharply, his entire arm growing numb.

"Magic," Snow breathed harshly. "Has to be."

"How?"

"I don't know, I don't care, I just need to get out!" Snow screamed, throwing herself against the door.

"Shh," James whispered. "Listen."

"-Plan B fell through. But now my Plan A is back in action. I obtained a rather rare treat for you, Emma. One never before seen in this world."  
She pulled her hand out of her pocket, holding it out to Emma.

"Go to hell," Emma muttered darkly.

Sat in the palm of her hand was an apple, ripe and red and no doubt poisoned, the skin marred by a single bite mark.

"Take it, and I'll let them go. You have my word; I'll never harm them again."

"Your word means nothing to me. Actually, it means less than nothing. I need something else."

Regina eyed Emma appraisingly for a moment, before saying quietly, "I swear on Henry's life."

"Done," Emma said immediately, snatching the apple from Regina's hands.

"No, Emma, you can't!" Henry cried, struggling against the door, pounding the window with his fists.

Emma glanced back, meeting his teary gaze with her own frightened eyes.

"Henry, stop it," she said, fighting back the tears. "You be strong, ok? No matter what."

"No!" he howled, bruises already blooming across his hands.

"One bite, Miss Swan. One bite is all it takes," Regina murmured, smiling serenely.

"You take care of him. You take good care of him, or I swear I'll find a way to wake up, and then I will kill you."

"Bold words, Miss Swan. Forgive me if I don't live in fear of them."

"Emma, it's alright, you don't have to-you don't know-Emma, _please_, put the apple down," Snow said hurriedly, tears falling from her own eyes.

"A deal's a deal," was all she said in reply, though internally she screamed at herself to heed her mother's advice.

"It's the apple I used to poison your mother," Regina murmured, her eyes wide with anticipation. "I thought it would be a…rather poetic ending."

Emma said nothing, and not looking away from Regina, not even daring to glance at her parents' stricken faces, nor Henry's tears, she took one bite of the apple.

Regina's smile grew as Emma choked slightly, her eyes widening in instinctive panic. She fell to the floor, her hair fanned out around her head, the apple rolling out of her limp fingers and coming to a halt at Regina's foot.

All was silent. All was still.

All, until one lone wolf far in the forest let loose a high, mourning howl.

The spell of silence was broken. The three witnesses hurled insults at Regina, thrashing against their prison; Snow was crying, huge, pained sobs that ripped the heart out of James as he screamed Emma's name, almost snapping his wrist in an attempt to escape, punching the windows along with Henry.

"Please, don't, help her, please," Henry begged, tears running like rain down his cheeks.

Regina laughed coldly.

Ignoring Snow and James, she smiled softly over at Henry, appearing as nothing more than a caring mother.

"You see, Henry. Blood always shows. Snow White was weak. She believed in sacrificing herself over and over again, first for her people, and last for her beloved _Charming_. It would seem Emma was the same."

"No," Snow cried, fury and despair at war within her. "When she wakes up she'll tear the heart out of you. And if she doesn't, I sure as hell will."

Regina ignored her again.

"Henry, Emma sacrificed herself for nothing. I still win."

Finally she turned to Snow, her expression young, and beautiful, and triumphant. "I win."

"No!"

"Good never wins," Regina breathed, turning her gaze to Emma asleep on the floor. Kneeling down, she picked up the apple, looking at the two sets of teeth marks on either side with mild appreciation.

"Well, Miss Swan, it would seem that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree after all."


	6. Sweets to the Sweet

**Chapter Six**

**Sweets to the Sweet**

"There's no point in staying with her," a voice said softly, jolting Snow into awareness; she hadn't even realised she was falling asleep.

She glanced towards the door, her mind befuddled with weariness and worry.

She hadn't allowed herself to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time, and even then she had been thrown back to awareness by her fear, her heart pounding in her chest. After that, she had resolved to stay awake no matter what. Apparently even eight coffees in a row had not been enough to make her body forget her exhaustion.

"How did you get in?" she asked hoarsely. She cleared her throat, drawing her wits and even a little courage to her. She would need it for this conversation.

"I have my ways."

"How did you know she was here?"

"Like I said, I have my ways."

Snow smiled sadly. She didn't doubt that; the basement wasn't safe, it wasn't even secret, but it was warm and had a bed. It would keep Emma alive.

But not for long; it had been only two days since she had bitten into the apple and already she was fading, each breath shallower than the last.

Snow shifted slightly, uncomfortable aware of how her visitor would mark every move she made. She could feel his eyes boring into her, could see his twisted smile in her mind.

"You know what happened?" she asked, and it didn't pass her notice that it was her asking all the questions.

"I've picked up bits and pieces," he said quietly, but his tone betrayed him.

_Regina walked away calmly, smiling serenely as she left Emma lying in the road. _

_As soon as she disappeared from sight, the locks clicked. _

_Snow flew from the truck, skimming her knees as she fell beside Emma, cradling her head in her lap, her fingers running through her hair. _

"_Emma, wake up," Henry cried, shaking his mother's shoulder with trembling hands. _

_Silently, James grabbed Emma's wrist, his mouth tight, his eyes guarded. _

_A moment later his entire body sagged with relief. _

"_She's alive," he breathed, closing his eyes and thanking whoever was watching over them. _

"_We need to get her somewhere safe," Snow said flatly. "Which is nowhere in Storybrooke."_

"_I thought we had decided this already," James said sharply, staring at Emma with pain-filled eyes. _

"_You can't leave," Henry repeated, glancing between them. "Bad things happen to people who try to leave. It has to be somewhere here."_

"_Not my place, not yours," Snow muttered, frowning in thought. Her expression cleared suddenly. "Red's." _

"_Granny's? That's not a secret," Henry said confusedly. _

"_No, but they won't give us up." _

"_Snow, they're not who we think they are, they're whoever Regina made them here," James reminded her gently._

"_It's the best chance we have," Snow snapped._

_Fifteen minutes later, they found themselves at the back entrance of Granny's, Ruby staring at the unconscious Emma in James' arms with wide eyes. _

"_Help us," was all Snow had said. _

_Ruby said nothing in return. Instead, she opened the door wider, taking a step back to let them in. _

_They turned to the stairs, but Ruby grabbed Snow's arm._

"_Not that way. There's a room in the basement, I'm not sure what it was used for, but it has a bed, table, a few chairs; enough for you to hide out in for a while. I mean, it's not exactly top secret, it'll be on all the building plans but no one's used in it years. No one will think to look there."_

"Can I help you, Mr Gold?" she forced herself to ask politely, though it almost choked her to say it; there was a still a distinctive chill in her voice that she couldn't hold back.

He could have her courtesy, but there was no way she would tell him what had happened between Emma and Regina. There were some things best left unsaid.

"Oh, let's not play games now, dearie. I know you, you know me; we both remember."

She suddenly wished she had a sword.

_Why weren't you allowed to carry a sword in this world? How stupid, _she thought.

But that was a complaint for another time. She must stay clear-headed to talk with him, she told herself again.

"Rumplestiltskin," she said stiffly. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"Your daughter," he said shortly. "As I said earlier…why are you here? She may as well be dead; she certainly doesn't know her mother's holding a midnight vigil over her body."

Snow turned to face him with empty eyes.

_Were you human once? Did you ever feel?_

"She knows," Snow said simply.

He gave her an understanding smile. She wanted to smack it off his face.

"How we love our children. Whenever my son was ill, I would stay up all night telling him stories. He never remembered what I told him when he got better, but I'd still do it again the next time."

"You have a son?" she asked curiously despite herself.

"Yes."

She waited for a moment to see if he would expand on his comment. When no explanation was forthcoming she sighed in frustration.

"What do you want?" she asked bluntly.

"Same as you: Miss Swan here to wake up, make a full recovery, destroy Regina."

"I noticed you omitted breaking the curse from your motives," Snow said warily, choosing her words as carefully as she would choose a weapon for battle. "Any reason for that?"

He smiled again, shaking his head slightly. "None that you would understand."

"Try me."

"And why would I tell you my secrets?" he asked softly, his voice caressing the last word.

"Do they have anything to do with my daughter?" she asked acidly.

"No."

"Then keep them. And get out."

She turned her back on him, realising with a sickening jolt that Emma was far paler than she had been minutes ago.

_Time is against you, time is running out, _a cruel voice sang.

"She's getting weaker," Rumplestiltskin murmured, and there was genuine sorrow in his voice.

"She's going to be alright," Snow said through gritted teeth, as much for her benefit as his. "They'll find something."

"Ah, yes, your little hunting party. The prince and the boy. What a team, all alone in that forest, searching for who knows what. We all know how that story ends."

"Go to the forest," she had urged James desperately, practically shoving him towards the door. "There _must _be magic left in the forest."

It was all she had to believe in.

"They'll find something," she repeated firmly.

"And if they don't?"

She stared at Emma's face, brushing away a stray lock of hair.

She had such beautiful hair; it was something she'd admired since Emma had first came to Storybrooke, before she knew the truth.

She was beautiful all over, a swan amongst ducklings in this world, a true princess with her fairytale golden hair.

And she was dying.

"If they don't," Snow said in a deadly voice, her eyes blazing, "I will kill Regina as slowly and painfully as I can."

Unseen by Snow, Rumplestiltskin's smiled widened.

"Then it seems we have a common goal, Snow White. But I do not think you shall fulfil it. We both know you have a gentle heart in your breast, whereas our dear Queen but a dark hole."

"I told you to get out," she snapped, whirling round to face him. "Go, now."

"As you wish," he said in resignation, holding his hands up in surrender.

Snow squinted at him, trying to see through the increasing darkness.

In one hand he held his cane…in the other, she couldn't see but she was certain they were-

"Flowers. Roses, if you want to be specific. They're for Emma. Such a lovely name. Beautiful flowers for a beautiful woman."

"She has no need of flowers right now," Snow murmured, wondering what the hell he was up to now.

"Then I'll leave them here," he said in a pleased voice, placing the bouquet on the table, adding in an undertone, "Perhaps you can place them on her grave."

"GET OUT!" she shrieked, losing all composure and leaping towards him, barely noticing his amused glance as she shoved him towards the door, maintaining just enough control so as to not beat him with his own damn stick.

"All the best," he murmured in a silky voice, right before Snow slammed the door in his face.

* * *

There was a rustle to the left, startling Henry so badly he almost dropped his torch. Holding it tighter, he whirled round, pointing it into the undergrowth and starting forwards slowly.

"Wait," James warned softly, causing Henry to jump again; he was sure his grandfather had been far behind him. "I'll go."

He glanced around quickly, his eyes falling on a thick branch. Picking it up and holding it as he would his sword, he prowled towards the noise, cursing every crackle and snap beneath his feet.

Before he could prod, there was another rustle to his left; something moved, darting between the trees.

"James!" Henry gasped, his torch slipping through his numb fingers as his pulse thundered in his ears.

"Henry, keep quiet," he whispered, stumbling backwards and pushing the boy behind him, his arm thrown out to prevent him from running towards it…whatever _it _was.

"What is it?" Henry breathed, squinting into the darkness.

"I don't know," James admitted, kneeling as quietly as he could and picking the torch up. "Maybe a wolf?"

"There are no wolves in Storybrooke," Henry said, though he frowned. "But it sure did…"

He trailed off, distracted by something in the corner of his eye. He turned fearfully; his entire body turned to ice.

"It sure did what?" James asked urgently, shining the torch into the gloom.

"Turn around slowly," Henry said in the calmest voice he could manage as he grabbed onto James' jacket, his fingers twisting in the fabric.

James did as he said, his breath trapped within his chest as it constricted with fear.

A wolf brushed through a gap in the trees, its coat matted and coarse, staring at them with odd eyes.

"The Huntsman's wolf," Henry breathed in amazement. "He must have gotten trapped here after…"

Again Henry was cut off, this time by the arrival of another wolf.

His mouth dropped open, his words forgotten.

Its coat was thick and brown, almost curly if wolves could have such a thing, taller and longer than the other wolf, though just as elegant and graceful.

It stopped beside its brother, gazing up at them through stormy eyes.

Human eyes.

"It can't be," Henry whispered, stretching out his free hand to the wolf.

James exhaled sharply, his grip on the branch tightening.

Still eyeing them warily, it padded towards Henry, stopping just short of his trembling fingers.  
Henry could feel its warm breath on his skin, hear the growl building in the back of its throat, though he couldn't tear his eyes away from the wolf's gaze.

"Hello, Graham," he said softly.

As though in answer, the wolf threw back his head and howled.


	7. A Game of Life and Death

**Chapter Seven**

**A Game of Life and Death**

"Is she dead yet?" Regina asked in a bored voice. She sat in her chair as though it were a throne, lounging back with her legs crossed, one hand twisting a golden ring through her fingers, the other hanging from the armrest, her expression unfathomable, though her eyes were alive, dancing with an emotion Rumplestiltskin couldn't put a name to, but he knew he disliked it nonetheless.

"You can answer your own question, Your Majesty. You'll know as soon as she's dead. We all will," Rumplestiltskin replied quietly, watching her with interest.

"Will you run?" she asked.

"Nowhere to run to; I can't leave, no matter how much I might want to."

"Your power will be restored to you once we return."

"True," he agreed. "But my son won't be."

"That is no concern of mine," Regina murmured, smiling sweetly at him. "Goodbye, _Mr Gold_."

He stood silent for a moment, turning half a fraction before spitting, "Did you know?"

Regina sighed, clearly irritated. "Did I know _what?_"

"Did you know what would happen the moment that apple touched her lips?"

"Not exactly…but I did have an idea that it would kill her, if that's what you're asking. Yes, I knew. Or rather, I knew the risk."

"Then why?" he asked, curiosity and confusion burning inside him.

At first he thought she wouldn't answer. She turned away, looking out the window at her apple tree, so still she could have been carved from stone, all except her fingers which continued to play with the ring.

After minutes of silence, his patience snapped.

"Tell me!" he screamed, slamming the butt of his cane against the floor.

"This isn't about the fight anymore," she said softly, as though ignorant to his mood. "The battles, the war…none of it matters. This is about survival now."

"It's always about the fight," he breathed. "Don't you see? There is no difference; life or death, winning or losing, they're the same now."

Regina laughed slightly to herself. "You truly don't understand. This is all a game, Rumplestiltskin. You are my pawns, and I will not stop until I have won. And I always win. You, Snow, James, my son…you're all fighting a losing battle. Save yourselves the pain of defeat in combat. Surrender now and perhaps some of you will live to see our home."

"Then we still win. We would have our lives," he replied calmly, staring at her with indifference, whilst internally he fought the desire to strike her where she stood.

"Perhaps," she conceded. "But what is life without the people you love? If winning is living and losing is dying, what would you call me ripping your son's heart out before your eyes? Yours would still beat yet I would hardly call that a triumph, would you?"

This time he was the one who turned to stone. He was gripping his cane so hard he could feel the metal biting into his skin but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

"Do you understand now, Rumplestiltskin? When Miss Swan dies, we will return to our home. True, I shall lose _this_ game. But I ultimately, in the grand scale of things, I win. Snow White will break and James will rage and I will still win. My magic, my men, and my hatred will remain, and I pity any who stand against me then. And finally, after so long wishing for it, I will destroy you all. Good day to you, Rumplestiltskin," she finished, her tone becoming lighter. "Make sure it isn't your last."

* * *

"This is ridiculous," James muttered, glaring at his grandson, who was chattering away happily beside him, unaware he was being completely ignored.

"Maybe the Queen put a different curse on him, turned him into a wolf when she killed him as a human. Maybe being a wolf is the Huntsman's curse now."

"You said he was remembering; he might have already been the Huntsman when he died," James reminded him.

"Well then maybe the Queen doesn't know he's a wolf. Maybe Emma saved him, broke his part of the curse. Maybe when he died he was reborn as a wolf. Maybe they can break each other's curse now!" Henry cried excitedly, his face flushed with cold and hope.

"And how can a wolf give her true love's kiss?" James asked cynically, pushing aside a stray branch. "I don't know, Henry, there are an awful lot of _maybes _to this."

"Well…I don't know. But they'll work it out. They have to."

James paused, hesitating slightly before turning to Henry and kneeling in front of him, his hands on Henry's shoulders.

"I want to save Emma as much as you do, but I don't think this is the way," he said gently.

Henry stiffened.

"Watch," he said curtly before whistling as loudly as he could.

"Henry, we need to-"

"Shh," he whispered, slapping his hand over James' mouth.

A moment later, the wolves appeared, the brown one-_not Graham, I will not call it Graham, _James told himself firmly-leading.

Smiling at James, Henry gently but firmly pushed his hand away-whilst removing his own from over James' mouth, something which James still couldn't believe he'd actually done-and walked over to meet them; the brown wolf sat back on his haunches whilst the grey watched on cautiously, settling into a half-crouch, as though preparing for an attack.

James forced himself to keep entirely still, lest he bring harm to his grandson.

Henry knelt before Graham, meeting his gaze, not breaking it once. "Can you help her? Can you save my mom?"

The wolf whined, bowing his head and nuzzling Henry's hand.

"Henry," James started softly, his heart constricting in his chest for what felt like the hundredth time that night. "It's just a wolf, it doesn't know what you're saying."

"He's following us back; why else would he come when I called?"

"It is not following us. The woods are its home, it was probably hunting."

Henry ignored him.

"Emma needs you," he told the wolf gently. "I think you're her true love."

"That is enough," James snapped, suddenly having seen too much. He rose quickly to his feet, grabbing Henry by his jacket and pulling him up next to him.

The wolves snarled; James barely glanced their way.

"My daughter is dying, and we are wasting time talking to a _wolf_. Graham is dead, Henry, no matter how much you wish it otherwise. And I'm sorry, I truly am, but this will not bring him back, nor will it save your mother."

"He can save her! I know it!"

"Are you even listening to me?" James cried exasperatedly.

"You know, you really reminded me of Emma then. I guess she gets it from you."

"Gets what from me?" he asked suspiciously.

"Everything. I thought she'd be more like Snow White because of that saying, you know, 'like mother, like daughter,'" Henry said quickly, giving James no chance to interrupt. "But she's not. She's like you. It's kind of scary how much. Like just then. You basically turned into her."

Narrowing his eyes at Henry's compliment, James wondered whether it was true, to shut him up or just plain backhanded.

He shook his head, deciding he had bigger problems at the moment.

"We are going back right now, alright? No more about wolves or true love or-"

"I was right about the curse," Henry murmured. "I was right in believing you were Prince Charming, I was right about everyone! Why won't you believe that I'm right about this too?"

James closed his eyes in resignation.

"Fine. You have once chance to prove you're right. Though I don't know how we're going to get two wolves into Granny's."

"Just the one," Henry corrected. "Graham's friend will stay here."

"Oh well that's kind of him," James muttered under his breath, making his way to the edge of the forest, the brown wolf padding alongside him, the white further behind, keeping an eye on all three.

"Plus, Ruby's a wolf too. Won't she be ok with it?"

"I don't know," James admitted with a frown. "For one, she doesn't remember who she is. To add on top of that, wolves are incredibly territorial; it might be that two strange wolves turning up on her land cause her to remember her other life because of it, and then she'd turn into a wolf to defend it."

"One wolf, and he isn't a stranger," Henry corrected.

James chose not to answer.

"And anyway," Henry said cheerfully, "wouldn't that be a good thing?"

James chuckled slightly. "I've seen her in actions as a wolf; it would definitely not be a good thing."

"Oh right," Henry said glumly. "I forgot about that."

"Wish I could," James said, though he flashed a grin at Henry.

"Look!" he called suddenly, pointing to the right of them. James followed suit just in time to see the odd eyed wolf bounding away, light streaming down on his coat through the trees, spots of dew twinkling in his fur like diamonds.

"It's dawn," James breathed. "We've been here too long, we have to get back."

He broke into a run, hearing the wolf doing the same and Henry panting behind him.

"Snow would have called if anything happened," Henry said, though he bit his lip with worry.

"Of course," James heard himself agree, too focused on finding his keys.

After minutes of fruitless search he realised with horror that he must have dropped them in the forest.

"Damn it!" he yelled, slamming his hands against the truck's door.

"James?" Henry asked meekly.

"My keys-they're gone-must have lost them," he said brokenly. "Looks like we're walking."

"No, we have to go now!" Henry cried, panic clawing at his chest. "We don't have time."

James covered his face, cursing his own bad luck.

"Maybe I can try to break-"

"No, wait!" Henry shouted, his voice breaking.

He dropped his hands in time to see the wolf run back into the forest.

"Great. That's just great. He obviously cares so much about his true love," he snarled.

For once, Henry remained silent, staring despairingly at his shoes.

"I told you. I said it was just a wolf, but would you listen?"

He knew he should stop, tell Henry it was going to be alright and start walking towards Granny's but he found he couldn't.

Hopelessness, fear and loss pressed down upon him, almost crushing the air right out of him.

And then he saw it.

The wolf had returned, almost flying with speed from beneath the trees.

It slowed as it approached James, head bowed.  
Coming to a halt before him, it raised its head, meeting James' baffled gaze.

James stared at it in awe; in its mouth were his keys.

Reaching forward in a daze, he reached out his hand, falling to his knees, his eyes locked on the wolf's.

"Is it you?" he breathed, trying to still his shaking hand. "You helped me save Snow once, do you remember? Are you trying to help me again, to save my daughter?"

With a soft whine, the wolf dropped the keys into his hand.

James smiled.

"Thank you, Graham."

* * *

Snow was waiting outside Granny's when they pulled up, a large red hoodie covering her face.

He didn't realise how fast or close she was until he nearly knocked her out with the door.

"Watch it, Charming," she warned breathlessly. "I wish we still had horses."

He smiled, though it was a little strained.

"Who's with Emma?" he asked with a frown.

"Red's watching her for a minute. I needed a little air."

She didn't wait for a reply.

"Do you have something? A cure, a way home?"

"No. We do, however, have a wolf," James said, opening the passenger door with a flourish.

Graham leapt down, snapping his jaws as the seatbelt caught on his hind leg.

"A wolf," Snow echoed, staring down at the offending creature.

"Yes, but don't worry, he's Graham, and Henry thinks he might be Emma's true love," James explained hurriedly.

"What?" Snow asked sharply. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Maybe, but it's the only thing we have right now. And," he added quietly, "it was all Henry's idea."

"Hey!"

"Hush, Henry," Snow scolded, glancing around nervously. "How exactly are we going to get a big, brown wolf through a nice, clean, _busy_ guesthouse where there are, you know, people who have eyes who could report to Regina, and of course a girl who can turn into a very strong, rather large wolf?" she hissed. "Not to mention trying to get him down into the basement."

"Back door?" Henry suggested.

Snow rolled her eyes. "I give up. Perhaps we could-"

"Mary Margaret!" a voice called urgently.

They span around to face the guesthouse, Henry moving to hide the wolf.

"Re-Ruby?" Snow called, frowning.

"It's Emma, you need to come now!"

Snow glanced at James, stricken.

"We're too late," he breathed.

"No, not yet, there's still time!" Snow screamed, running after Ruby. "Come on, Graham!"

The wolf let out a bark as he barrelled after her, the two disappearing into the house.

"So…I guess she believes too?" Henry said softly.

"Let's go," was all James said.

Taking Henry's hand, they ran towards Granny's, as around them the world began to crack and shimmer.

A storm was coming.


	8. The End of the World

Don't own anything.

I didn't want to add anything else to this chapter but it's not as long as I would have liked, so to make up for its shortness I'll do a double update.

I'd also like to thank everyone who has read, reviewed, story-alerted and/or favourited this; it really does mean a lot to me, especially with this being my first OUAT fic, so thank you all.

Now on with the chapter, hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

**The End of the World**

"I was just sitting here when she started shaking-like really crazy shaking-and then she just went still," Ruby explained hurriedly, trembling herself, her voice uneven as they ran down the stairs. "I checked she was breathing before I came out to you. Mary Margaret, this is going to sound so weird but I can hear her heart and I don't know how, but it's really weak, each beat is slower and fainter than the last. She needs medical help now."

"We can't take her the hospital," Snow said breathlessly, jumping the last few steps.

"Mary Margaret, there is nothing we can d-can you smell that? It's horrible, it's making me feel sick," Ruby muttered, glancing around her.

James' eyes widened in panic, meeting Henry's frightened gaze.

Graham padded ahead, unconcerned.

"It must be the air down here," Snow said evasively, throwing open the door and rushing to the bed, Graham on her heels.

Ruby froze in the doorway, effectively barring James and Henry's entry.

"She's so pale…" Ruby whispered. "So still and pale. Cold and pale as snow."

She cried out suddenly, clutching at her head.

"What's wrong?" Henry cried.

"Snow!" Red called worriedly, and Snow's heart twisted at the return of her friend. "Snow, I have to change!"

James jumped into action immediately, noting Graham's hackles rising, a snarl building in his throat as he faced Red.

"Snow, get her out of here now," James said quietly, grabbing Henry's arm and edging around the groaning Red.

"No, I'm not leaving Emma," she said distractedly, feeling Emma's forehead worriedly. "She's like ice."

James turned, kneeling before Henry.

"You have to stay here with Snow and Graham, alright? No matter what happens, no matter what you hear happening upstairs, you do not leave this basement, do you understand?" he said urgently.

Henry nodded, his breathing erratic.

Without thinking, James hugged him, pulling him close, closing his eyes as Henry held him just as tightly.

"Be careful," he said quietly, and James felt tears fall onto his neck.

"I always am," James replied, letting go of him and smiling, brushing away his tears. "Take care of your mother too."

And with that he rose to his feet, hurrying to Red's side.

She seemed to collapse in on herself, curling into a ball as she fell to her knees, her fists pressed against her stomach.

"Can you walk?"

She shook her head, her teeth clenched together.

He stooped down, ducking his head beneath her arm and pulling her up with him, frowning at how she sagged against him.

"What's wrong? Why is it taking so long? Not that I'm complaining," he added hurriedly, beginning to make their way towards the stairs.

"I don't know," Red hissed. "It never usually-there's no magic here. James, if there's no magic and I'm technically a magical creature, what if-?"

"You'll be fine, you just need to get outside," he told her firmly, though inside he was terrified.

Every instinct in him was screaming for him to turn back, to run to Emma's side and stay there.

His stomach was twisting, his chest feeling bizarrely hollow as each heartbeat echoed around it, his mind racing through the possibilities that he would never see his daughter again, that Red was dying, that everything was wrong, all so wrong-

"Charming!"

He turned his head slightly, taking in Snow's distraught face.

"No matter what happens I will find you," she said through gritted teeth, her lip trembling. "I will always find you."

He opened his mouth to reply, to tell her he loved her, to tell her he was coming right back.

He found himself nodding instead as he faced forwards.

Red was gasping, her grip on him becoming increasingly limp.

"Nearly there," he breathed, keeping his gaze right on the door; it was Red's escape, his sign to turn back. As soon as he got her to there, he could return to Emma.

But each of Red's breaths was more laboured than the last, pulling James down with her, her face resting against the wooden step.

"I can't-so tired," she panted, her eyes closing.

That was when he saw the blood trickling from her nose.

"No you don't!" James barked, yanking her up beside him, ignoring her cry of pain and almost dragging her up the stairs, terrified of her dying in his arms, terrified of Emma not.

And then he felt it, ever so faintly.

The stairs were shaking.

He frowned; correction, the entire building was shaking.

He moved faster, tripping over his own feet, Red stumbling along beside him, incoherent, close to unconsciousness.

The silence fell so suddenly he was convinced he had gone deaf.

And then the storm broke, the magic crashing around them like waves upon rocks, louder than any thunderclap, smothering them with its power.

The entire world shuddered, the ground beneath his feet rumbling, cracks slicing their way down the walls in the gloom, as finally they returned home, the world they had resided in for so long collapsing beneath them.


	9. This is Your Life

**Chapter Nine**

**This is Your Life**

She was lost. She was cold. She was still.

She was dreaming; endless, painful dreams, a mirror of her life held up to her, each memory breaking her already shattered heart a little bit more, each piece adding to the mirror, making it bigger, scarier, showing yet more horrors from her past.

Some weren't that bad. Some were nice, normal pieces of her life she didn't even know she remembered, and some she definitely couldn't have remembered.

Others were that bad.

But there were certain memories that kept coming up, slipped in amongst many others every so often, ripping the breath right out of her-metaphorically of course; she already knew she was technically dead-and sending her spiralling into the darkness at the edges of her mind.

And that was where they came to the forefront, the same key memories playing out in her mind over and over and over again.

She knew it would drive her mad.

But what more could she lose?

She was already dead.

"_Charming? Charming, where are you?" Snow called in exasperation, practically dancing from room to room. _

"_Everything alright?" he asked, coming in from the balcony, his cheeks flushed from the cold. _

_She threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his neck. _

"_Snow, what's wrong?" he asked quickly._

_She pulled her head away, revealing the tears trickling down her pale cheeks. _

"_It's alright, whatever it is, we can fix it," he said with a warm smile, wiping her tears away with his thumbs, her chin cradled in his hands._

"_No, Charming, it doesn't need fixing. Oh, it's so wonderful!" _

"_What?" he asked, half in annoyance, half in amusement. _

"_We're going to have a baby," she whispered, her smile lighting up the entire room, the entire world in James' opinion. _

_He laughed shakily, one tear escaping his own eye. _

"_That's…I-a baby? Our baby?" he breathed. _

_She nodded, still grinning. _

_He lifted her closer, twirling her around the room, the two laughing and crying together. _

_That night, they lay beside each other, their hands entwined on Snow's stomach. _

_Tiny as she was, Emma felt her parents' love, and it stayed with her forever, for no curse was strong enough to eradicate true love. _

"Emma! No, please, no! Emma, wake up!"

"_I wager my best stallion it's a boy," James said smugly, crossing his arms from his place in the doorway. _

_Snow laughed. "A mother is always right, and I'm telling you, it's going to be a girl. We'll have a little princess on our hands."_

_James made no reply, instead rolling his eyes and turning to leave. _

"_Even Doc says it's a boy," he added teasingly. _

"_How silly of me, I forgot that Doc resides in my womb with the baby," Snow said acidly. _

"_Boy or girl, we'll love it all the same. I just want to prove I'm right." _

"_You mean prove Doc's right?" _

"_You'll see," he called cheerfully over his shoulder as he left the room, no doubt to consult with Doc again. _

"_Ignore your father. He doesn't know these things, he's not like us girls," she whispered to her stomach, resting her hand lightly on the bump. "We'll prove him wrong, Emma. My little Emma."_

"Find Doc now, before it's too late!"

"_Goodbye, Emma," the woman called softly, her features blurred, her voice a long forgotten memory._

"_No," Emma cried, her tiny hands outstretched, waiting for the woman to reach back to her like she always did and hold her close. _

"_You're going to a new home, one where you can have someone's full attention, where they can look after you properly, where you can come first."_

_The excuses fell from her lips easily, one after another. They were the first in a long line that Emma would hear._

_A baby cried behind the woman, drawing her attention with an anxious glance._

"_Goodbye, Emma," she repeated, raising her hand in farewell, turning away, walking away, leaving her. _

_She was placed in a carseat, a kind voice telling her to sleep now, it would be a long ride, everything is alright._

_As soon as the car began to move, she screamed._

"It's already too late. The curse could only have broken if her heart stopped. She is dead."

_He was kissing her, his lips warm and soft on hers, his hands resting against her hips, Emma's arms around his neck, her hands running through his hair, pulling him closer._

"_I love you," she murmured against his skin, and she never wanted anything more than this. _

_He made no reply, but instead kissed her again hungrily, pushing her every so slightly back against the bed, pulling off her top as she undid his belt, throwing it into the corner of the room. _

_In the morning he was gone. _

_Two days later so was she. _

"She can't be. She was supposed to save us. She has to survive, she's going to save us."

_She was alone, crouched in a toilet stall, shuddering against the cold and her fear, clutching the tiny white stick like a lifeline. _

_Drawing on every ounce of courage she had, she glanced down. _

_Her heart plummeted, her stomach heaving as she twisted on the floor, her throat burning as she threw up for the fourth time that day._

_She was pregnant. _

_She was screwed._

"She already has. Just not in the way we had hoped."

_She was in the back of a police car, her escort to her new home. They'd promised she'd be looked after, her and the baby. _

_She was so scared she didn't even notice when she began to cry. _

_When the car finally stopped and the door opened, she only cried harder._

"No. NO!" someone was crying, screaming, repeating the word like a mantra, punctuated by sobs and moans. "Emma!"

"_Push, Emma," the nurse commanded, ignoring Emma's glare. _

_She screamed, tears running down her face from the effort, from the pain, from her panic._

_Her heart was pounding, she was pretty sure she'd lost half her body weight in sweat, and after six and a half hours, the moment she was dreading and/or dreaming of was close at hand. _

"_One more, Emma, and you're all done," the nurse said soothingly. "Now!" _

_She pushed, letting out one last scream of agony, and fear, and regret. _

_There was a moment's silence, her heart leaping into her mouth, and then she heard it. _

_God help her if it wasn't the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard. _

"_You have a healthy baby boy, Emma," the nurse told her gently, as the baby was taken off to the side to be weighed and God knows what, Emma hadn't asked. _

_All she'd asked for was someone who could take it away. _

_But now she wasn't so sure. _

_The crying was driving her crazy, but not in the way she'd imagined. She wanted him to stop crying, wanted to hold him and soothe him. _

_But she wouldn't, else she'd never let go. _

_This was no life for a baby. _

_This was no life for anybody. _

"_Would you like to hold him?" _

_She didn't even want to look at him for fear it would break her resolve._

_And even as she told herself this, she heard her voice say, "Yes." _

_Her hands were clumsy and tired as she took him in her arms, laying him across her chest. _

"_Hey, kid," she whispered, not even attempting to fight back the tears falling thick and fast now. _

"_I know you probably want to stay here with me, and God knows I want that too. But you deserve the best, and you're never going to get that with me. I don't know if you'll ever find me-I never found my parents-and I can guarantee you'll never find your father." _

"_You don't have to do this right now, Emma," the nurse murmured, gazing at the grief-stricken girl with compassion. "You can have some time to-"_

"_No. Take him. Take him now. I don't want him to be able to-I don't want to see him. Or whatever," she mumbled, though her arms tightened, holding him closer, as though by simply resting him on her heart she could keep him there forever. _

"_A closed adoption?" _

"_Yeah." _

_The nurse pursed her lips. "Very well. There's a social worker on site right now, if you want that. I can find her, and we can have him taken away right now. It's all up to you." _

"_I want that," she breathed._

_The nurse nodded, leaving mother and son alone for the first time. _

_Any composure she had fled the room with the nurse. _

_Her silent tears turned into full-blown sobs, each one racking her frame and tearing at her chest a little more. _

"_I love you so much, but I can't keep you. You deserve so much better than me, so much better than any of this. You'll be adopted by someone who will love you and take care of you the way you deserve to be. And I'm so sorry. But no matter how much they love you, no matter how many times they tell you that, I loved you first, and I will love you until I die, ok? You remember that. I love you. I will always love you. And that's why I have to let you go." _

_She bent her head forward, kissing his forehead lightly. _

"_I love you, I'm sorry," she whispered tremulously, starting as the door opened again. _

"_Hello, Emma, my name is Ali-" _

"_I don't care," she said brusquely. "Just take him, please, take him away from me." _

_Ali-whatever the rest of her name was, Emma didn't care-blinked in surprise. _

"_Right. Well, we can arrange the paperwork at a later date when you're feeling…better. Or maybe someone here could do it? A probation officer perhaps?"_

_The nurse-she didn't know her name either-moved forward, resting her hand softly on Emma's hair. _

"_Are you sure about this?" she asked in that same gentle voice. _

"_No. But I'm going to do it anyway." _

"_Would you like to name him?" _

_She hesitated for a moment, teetering on the edge of speech, but to name him would make him hers. _

"_No." _

"_Alright then."_

_The nurse removed her hand, reaching forward to take the baby from Emma's arms, cradling him close as she followed the social worker out of the room. _

_Left alone, Emma closed her eyes, ignoring another nurse's calls for her to move to another room, offers of new clothes, was she hungry, was she ok, did she need anything. _

_Instead, she held her hand to her heart, wondering how it could continue to beat when it had left her body forever as soon as her son had left her arms. _

"Bear her body to the castle as is fit for her. She remains our princess even in death."

"She is not _dead!_ She can't be! Not now, not when we were finally together again. She is-"

"Gone, Snow. We were too late. Emma is gone."

"_You didn't name him?" Mary Margaret asked in surprise, folding the laundry into neat, little piles as Emma flopped down onto the bed beside her. _

_This was when Emma liked to talk to her. This was when she could almost believe Henry was right about Mary Margaret being her mom. _

"_He wasn't mine to name," Emma said flatly, turning on her side to face Mary Margaret._

"_Emma, be serious." _

"_I am. I was giving him up, I didn't have the right to name him." _

_Mary Margaret was silent for a moment, taking in Emma's forlorn expression, the downturn of her mouth. _

"_You'd already chosen one, hadn't you?"_

"_I'd always liked it anyway. And despite how many times I told myself I was giving the baby up as soon as he was born, I couldn't help but think about it. As soon as they put him in my arms I knew it was perfect." _

"_What was it?"_

"_It doesn't matter now," Emma said hurriedly, getting off the bed and heading for the door. _

"_Emma." _

_She froze, taking a deep breath and feeling the twinge in her chest that had become as familiar to her as her own flesh. _

"_James. I wanted to call James." _

"Goodnight, Princess," a voice whispered softly in her ear, driving away her memories and filling her with an emotion she couldn't remember, leaving her warm and safe and peaceful, and she craved to hear the voice again, to wrap herself in its beauty as her world began to turn to darkness, night falling in her mind, unconsciousness beckoning to her kindly, dulling the pain her memories had left behind.

She was convinced she was already in heaven despite any previous doubts she'd had about an afterlife, and this was surely some angel sent to greet her, for no other man could have a voice so divine.

And as her mind finally faded to completely black and she was on the edge of sleep, he spoke again.

"Sweet dreams."


	10. When All You Hold Dear is Gone

Still don't own OUAT or its characters.

Hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

**When All You Hold Dear is Gone**

The kingdom was in mourning.

James was inconsolable, choosing to hide alone in the highest tower, locking and barring the door, ignoring Snow's increasingly desperate calls floating up the stone staircase.

It turned out Henry was right about the wolf; as soon as the curse broke Graham returned to his human form-heart intact-grinning down at himself until his gaze fell upon Emma's lifeless body. It turned out a human scream was far worse than a wolf's mournful howl. The Huntsman who could not feel found that he now could, and he hated it. After all, what were feelings worth when the woman who had ignited them was dead?

Henry had taken to following August around-whose limbs had thankfully returned to flesh-silent and pale as a ghost, running away for hours on end when August eventually snapped at him, only to return at nightfall with red eyes, glancing away from Snow's stricken face.

And Snow…Snow's desolation turned to rage which turned to hatred which turned to restlessness, the ache of losing her daughter never far away.

Plans for a funeral were announced, Emma's body clad in a dress fit for a princess, her coffin exquisite.

It was almost a shame she would never get to lie in it.

It was midnight when Snow ran.

* * *

"It would seem I was mistaken," Regina said conversationally as she pulled clothes from her wardrobe, holding up two cloaks beside one another. "Apparently it is the Prince I have broken. They say he hides away from all whereas dear little Snow's anger rages like wildfire."

"It would not be the first mistake you have made," her mirror said sullenly, though he watched her movements with undisguised longing.

She threw the two cloaks onto her bed, and turned to the mirror.

"Come now, my love," she said in a mocking tone. "Are you not pleased for me?"

"Pleased that your plan has failed? Why yes, nothing pleases me more."  
Regina scowled, turning her back on the mirror as she dressed, first in a plain black corset that laced up the front, followed by fitting black trousers, and finally black leather boots.

She glanced back at the two cloaks, one black as midnight with a black fur collar, the other deep sapphire blue velvet, trimmed with silver thread.

_I have worn enough black. To wear black now would be to appear as though mourning for the lost princess. _

She chose the blue cloak, slipping her arms through the sleeves, allowing them to drape almost to the floor.

It was not the most practical of riding gear, but it would show her status. She dressed like a queen to remind others that she still was queen.

It would show she didn't grieve for the princess. It would show that she was ready.

"There now. How do I look?"

"Beautiful as ever, my queen," he said dutifully.

Regina smiled sourly.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall…" She broke off, laughing coldly. "Was it worth it? All this just to be close to me?"

He said nothing, staring at her with emotionless eyes.

"Very well. Keep your secrets. I shall return soon."

She pulled back her hair, pulled on her riding gloves, pulled up her hood.

"I suppose I shall have to saddle my own horse. My guards have not yet returned to me."

She turned to leave, her cloak trailing behind her.

"Was it worth it?"

Her head whipped back to face her mirror, her face contorted into a mask of fury.

"What did you say?" she hissed, her entire body trembling.

"I said was it worth it? Killing your father, losing the Huntsman, losing Henry. Was it worth it?" he snarled, and each word was a dagger to Regina.

Her mouth opened, her words caught in her throat. She was frozen where she stood.

"I thought not," he murmured, sounding satisfied. "And now, my beautiful queen, all that you hold dear is right there in your hand."

She glanced down, her gaze falling on her clenched hand.

"All of this, for the owner of that."

Her fingers twitched, the smooth gold brushing against her skin.

"All of this because of your broken heart. What would he have to say if he knew how dark your heart has become?"

She was breathing heavily, her corset suddenly far too tight.

"Or do you even have a heart at all anymore?"

She closed her eyes, pretending she couldn't hear him; words she couldn't hear couldn't hurt her.

"What would he say if he knew you had done all of this in his name?"

She gasped raggedly, jerking back as though hit, her fingers numb as all that she held dear slipped between them, pinging against the cold stone floor and rolling to a halt beside the empty fireplace.

"He would be ashamed to see you now," he said coolly, as she did not know whether he meant in general or at that very moment, as she threw herself to the floor, scrambling to grab her ring, clenching it so tight in her fist she was sure that when she opened her hand its pattern would be engraved on her palm.

"All that you hold dear, my queen…are you proud of it?"

"No," she whispered, uncurling her fingers and staring down at her ring.

She brought it to her chest, pressing it against her skin, right over where her heart should be.

"But if she hadn't killed Daniel," she said, strength returning to her voice, "I would hold far more dear. I would have a husband, a life, maybe even children. Instead I am alone and full of hatred. I am a heartless woman because of her."

"You chose the curse. You cut out your own heart."

"My heart was ripped from my chest the minute my mother ripped Daniel's from his!" she screamed, tears falling from her cheeks. "And that is why all that I hold dear is a ring, because Snow White ripped everything away from me. And when the time comes I will rip her heart out of her chest, just as I ripped her daughter away from her."

Her mirror stared at her in horror as she rose from the floor, her cold smile in place.

"If you will forgive me, I have a meeting to attend, an old friend back in touch."

And as she left, she closed her eyes and slipped the ring onto her finger, pretending it was Daniel's fingers putting it on her.

_I promise to take you as my wife and love you for all eternity, _she thought, and it was his voice that filled her mind.

If her heart remained, it would have broken for a second time with the pain of losing Daniel once again filling her.

_I promise you, Daniel. I promise, I promise._

* * *

Here she was, waiting alone in the forest, the river running soothingly beside her, calming her frayed nerves as all around her the mist closed in.

She was ready to snap, her sword at her hip, knife in her boot.

She almost wanted Regina to try something.

She could almost hear her voice in her ear, cold and quiet, whispering, _How far you have fallen, Snow White. _

She wanted her blood.

But she wanted something else even more.

She'd planned it all, directing her speech to a mirror, knowing just who would be watching and listening.

Then she had found her old green cloak which hid her so well in the forest, making her way through the shadows to the stable, saddling her favourite horse and leaving as quickly as she could, swearing the guards to complete secrecy.

And now there was no turning back.

"Snow White," a voice called out. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I want to make a deal," Snow said immediately, her head held high as she met Regina's cool gaze.

Regina raised her eyebrows as she moved closer.

"I believe you have the wrong person, my dear. I'm sure Rumplestiltskin will be willing to treat with you."

"We've made a deal before."

"A deal that you broke," Regina said reminded her in a low voice, holding Snow's intense gaze.

"I didn't break it, Charming did. I held up my end. Now I want to make another. My life, in exchange for Emma's."

Regina laughed, the sound echoing around the trees, rising over the babbling of the river as she shook her head slightly.

"I have no power over the dead. No one does."

"Magic can do anything."

"But all magic comes at a price," Regina said with a humourless smile.

"I named my price; my life."  
Regina sighed, looking up exasperatedly.

"Snow White…skin white as snow, lips red as blood, hair black as ebony. What good does it all do you now?"

"I don't understand," Snow said through clenched teeth, her hands balling into fists.

"Snow White, the fairest of them all, beloved by the kingdom…what good does it do you now? How will you save all of your loyal, loving subjects now?"

"By killing you," she said shortly.

"Yet you offer your life up so willingly. I think you'll find it hard to kill me when you're entombed beneath the castle with your daughter."  
Snow turned away, her breathing ragged.

"Were you ever told how it was that Emma came to be in that accident?" Regina asked.

"You told me yourself," she said unevenly, forcing herself to calm down; she needed to focus, not enter a blind rage and try to attack Regina, as she was so close to doing.

Never before had she been so volatile, so full of pain and fury.

If grief had made Charming weaker, it had only made her stronger, more willing to do what needed to be done.

She supposed it was because she had nothing left to lose.

Her daughter was gone.

"I told you I caused it. Did you never wonder why she was in the car so late at night?"

Snow frowned but remained silent, curious despite herself.

"Emma was running," Regina said with relish, laughing truly, and it would have been the most beautiful sound in the world if Snow didn't hate her so. "Your daughter was leaving you."

"You're lying," Snow said in a low voice, her nails drawing blood in her palms.

"Am I? It certainly fits Miss Swan's profile. She ran, so I ran her off the road. It was only when I saw Henry beside her that I…regretted it. So I took Henry, made sure he was safe and still unconscious, and I went home. When he woke up, I told him it must have been a dream and that he had been in his bed asleep all night. And then I got a call from Doctor Whale to tell me that Miss Swan had survived, and that Mary Margaret and _David Nolan_ of all people were waiting for her in the corridor," Regina finished, her tone explanatory, as though explaining a vaguely interesting piece of news.

"That's not-she wouldn't…not without saying goodbye, she's cha-" Snow stuttered, but Regina cut her off.

"Wage a war against me, call your armies to you, name your battlefield; I shall meet you there myself. Don't promise what you can't fulfil; only the Saviour could defeat me, and she was a complete disaster from start to finish. You can't bring her back, you can't kill me; both of your plans ruined. I will offer you one deal, Snow White, for old times' sake, though it is far more than you deserve. I will allow you and your little prince to keep your lives. But I retake the throne and rule. I keep Henry. You lose your right as heir, as do any of your future children, and retire to some cottage far, far away. Fair enough for the fairest of them all?"

"No deal," Snow spat, returning to where her horse waited without a backward glance at Regina. "Until the battlefield, stepmother."

"Until your death, _daughter_."

Snow glared at her, before mounting her horse and turning away, Regina's eyes boring holes into her back.

"So it begins again," she said softly, the smallest of smiles upon her lips, before turning back the way she came and disappearing into the mist.

* * *

He cursed himself, hurrying down the stairs as soon as he saw Snow leave the courtyard, her cloak billowing out behind her.

Of course she'd visit Regina; how could he have expected anything else?

The next thing he knew, Rumplestiltskin would be at their door.

He undid the locks, removing the barricade, tearing down the empty hallway, turning the corner, before-

Smashing headfirst into someone, and throwing them both to the floor.

"Forgive me," he muttered, wincing as he rolled his shoulder. "I was distracted."

"As was I," the person murmured, sitting up beside him, and James realised with a jolt it was Gepetto's boy.

He didn't even know he was still in the castle. He wondered just what else he'd missed.

Since learning the truth of how Pinocchio came to be in Storybrooke, James' opinion of him varied depending on his mood, and right now he had never been in one so black; he had no time for the boy who had deprived his daughter of her mother.

"I must go, Snow's ran off to-"

"Have you seen her?" the boy interrupted quietly as James rose to his feet.

"Snow? Yes, that's what I was-"

"No," he said hotly. "Emma."

He staggered backwards as though hit, his breath hissing out.

"No-I…I can't. Not like that."

"She looks asleep."

"So did Snow but it didn't make it any easier."

"Snow was asleep. Emma is…gone. She's gone," the boy said heavily, tears gathering in his eyes.

"You think I don't know that? You think I don't see her laying there every time I close my eyes? I won't see her like that again. I refuse to."

"You have to say goodbye. She deserves a goodbye."

"You have no right to tell me what she deserves. She deserved her mother for the first twenty-eight years of her life. Instead she was left with a ungrateful boy who abandoned her as a baby, so do not dare lecture me on what she deserves," James snarled, his temper having finally got the better of him.

He whirled away from him, his blood pounding in his ears as he fought for control.

"I loved her, you know," the boy said conversationally, as though they were having a perfectly calm, normal talk. "As soon as I laid eyes on her in this world, I loved her. When I came to Storybrooke, and I first saw her standing there with Henry…she was so perfect, so beautiful, so…clearly born to be a princess."

"She was a princess, she always will be," James muttered, beginning to pace before him.

"I loved her as a…surrogate brother, if you will, and I said goodbye. Why could I do what her father cannot?"

James exhaled raggedly, turning away from the boy's intense stare.

"I don't know if I can. I don't think I have it in me."

"Neither did I. But I still did it."

"Did you kiss her?"

The boy looked away, his jaw tightening.

"Yes."

Fury flared within James, driving out his grief for a moment.

"Just on the forehead," the boy clarified. "I never imagined I was her true love."

"Graham is her true love," James said automatically, and he cursed Henry for making him believe so.

His chest constricted as he remembered Graham's reaction that day, how he held Emma, how he screamed, how he whispered in her ear, words none of them could hear.

_Never have I seen a man so broken. _

"You are her father," the boy said simply, as though James hadn't spoken at all.

"No parent should have to do this. No child should die first."

"The world is cold and uncaring. Regina is even more so."

"I can't do it," James repeated.

"Do it for her."

Four words, that was all. Never before had four words broken his heart in two.

_Do it for her. _

Everything he did was for her, he wanted to continue to do so for many years.

This would have to be enough.

This would be his final act as her father.

"Tell me where she is," he ordered.


	11. True Love's Kiss

I GOT INTO UNI YESTERDAY, so have a celebratory chapter update!

And as most of you have probably guessed by it's title, it's a big one, and I'm so glad it's finally here; I felt so evil reading all your lovely reviews-especially the ones about Emma-and not being able to say anything.

But now here it is, and I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

**True Love's Kiss**

James knew the castle fairly well for someone who had only lived in such a big place for a year or so, despite the twenty-eight year gap.

There were, however, some places he hadn't been.

The Sun Room was one of them.

Before the boy-_Pinocchio, _he thought grudgingly, _the boy's name is Pinocchio-_had told him where Emma was, he'd been imagining a tomb of stone, crushing her beneath its weight, her body lost in a maze of catacombs, forever cloaked in darkness.

The Sun Room was none of the above.

It was exactly what its name suggested.

Entirely made of glass, the sun shone right through, bathing Emma in its glow. It had been built beside what Snow had turned into her garden-or at least one of the many she had coveted-with ivy growing up the panes on one side, roses and daffodils, lilies and tulips, carnations and sunflowers, and all other kinds of flowers James couldn't remember the names of surrounding the others.

It was beautiful. It was somewhere she deserved to rest.

But his nightmares would soon be reality, her final resting place a tomb in the bowels of the castle, with all of her so-called ancestors. Apparently Snow had wished for her to be laid to rest beside her parents, but had been told that this would be the perfect place for their daughter's eternal sleep, locked in stone whilst her parents' hearts still beat above her.

He grimaced, remembering the simple grave of his father. Flowers grew around that too.

Flowers could not take root in stone.

This thought forced him forward, his footsteps echoing around him.

Despite the sun beating down on the glass the room was cool, the air fresh.

He supposed that was for the best, but he grimaced and shuddered at the thought nonetheless.

When he reached her, he let out the tiniest of laughs, though even to his own ears it sounded more like a sob.

The thing that really got him the most was that if Emma had been awake, she wouldn't have been caught dead-excuse the pun-in her outfit.

He was sure she would have thrown a fit at having even been offered it to wear.

From what he could recall, he had never seen her in a dress, not even in a skirt. Yet here she was laying in what had to be one of the most pure, feminine, and-dare he say it,-_princessy _dresses he had ever seen in his life, surpassing even Snow's beautiful wardrobe, though he was glad to see there were no feathers adorning her, as her mother so loved to wear.

The dress was white, dazzlingly so, patterned with golden roses, the skirt fanning out around her with cloth-of-gold in its numerous pleats, the bodice entwined with golden thread and sleeveless, leaving her arms bare at her sides, her hands folded across her.

Perhaps it was because the dress was so pale that it brought colour to her cheeks, James told himself, for she had never looked so alive.

And her hair…he was definitely sure she would have shot the person who had done this.

It was free, brushed out around her, her face surrounded in golden waves and curls, tiny white flowers places amidst them, their petals glittering in the sunlight.

Was this what happened when true love occurred? A golden prince and a princess named Snow White, and out of their union came Emma.

_Skin as pale as snow, hair as bright as spun gold. She would have put even Rapunzel to shame, _he thought with a smile, and he was surprised by how much it hurt.

_Princess Emma, the golden rose of the kingdom. _

He frowned, noticing a flash of colour neither white nor gold, and moved closer.

It was this that finally broke him.

Beneath her hands, lying across her stomach was her baby blanket.

He fell to his knees, his entire face crumpling into a mask of sorrow, tears burning their way down his face, as he reached forward, resting his fingertips on the worn fabric.

"Why?" he asked brokenly. "I don't-I'm not-why now? Why like this?"

He closed his eyes, bowing his head and leaning it against the marble plinth Emma lay upon.

It was untouched by the sun's warmth. It was this that prompted him to speak.

"I'm sorry, Emma. I am so sorry I failed you. I was supposed to protect you. I am your _father_, I was supposed to _protect_ you. I am _not _supposed to carry your coffin and bury you, leave you alone deep in rock to rot while I live. I'm not supposed to cry at your funeral when I can laugh another day. I'm supposed to see you every day, embarrass you, make you smile, teach you how to ride a horse, give you your first sword lesson-give you your first sword for that matter. I'm supposed to comfort you when you cry, agree with you when you're angry, threaten anyone who dares hurt you."

He broke off, shuddering.

He looked up, straightening up so as to see her face, his knees growing numb beneath him.

"I should have seen it coming. I should have known she'd do something like this," he said harshly. He paused a moment, his tongue suddenly too heavy to form words.

He soon found himself speaking again, if only to fill the awful silence that had fallen over the castle, the same silence that had driven him up that tower, when he had chosen to hide from it rather than break its spell.

"I'm going to miss you so much, Emma, and we should have had so much more time together. I love you," he said with a sob, rising to his feet and leaning over her, pressing his lips to her icy forehead, his tears landing in her hair.

He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against hers for a moment.

"Goodbye, Emma," he whispered, stepping away from his daughter for the last time.

_Now you must move, _he told himself, _you must turn away and walk out of this room and never return or you will never leave her side, this is it now, move-_

"Can a dead man bring a dead woman back to life?" a voice asked softly, and James jumped, his eyes opening in surprise.

"If a dead man breathes is he dead at all?" he asked, turning around to face the newcomer.

Graham stood in the doorway, his wolf-brother at his side, a bag slung over his shoulder, watching James through pain-filled eyes.

"I still breathed yet I had no heart. Did that make me dead or just unfeeling? A ghost or a human? What is the difference between the two?" he replied, though he made no move to come forward.

"You have a heart now, and you breathe just as much as you feel. I would say that the dead man has been brought back to life."

"But the dead woman slumbers on," Graham answered evenly, though James could see what it cost him to say so, how much it hurt him to even be standing there.

"I know it feels to see the one you love like this," James said softly, "but that all disappears the moment she opens her eyes."

"What if she doesn't?" Graham snapped, suddenly scowling at James.

"At least you said a proper goodbye," James said, and it tore him apart to do so.

"Where have you been?" Graham asked abruptly.

"Hiding in a tower. You?"

"Hiding in a garden. The castle feels far too much like a prison."

"This castle has become a tomb," James said quietly.

Graham looked away, swallowing hard.

"I'm leaving."

James nodded, having assumed as much.

"I suppose for us this is a return to our old lives whilst you have remained Graham. Your life is better now than ever before."

Graham smiled, though it was a twisted, bitter thing, and James didn't need magic to know his thoughts.

"I have no name," he said quietly, glancing towards where Emma lay. "Here I'm only the Huntsman. Graham is as good a name as any."

"Graham is Emma's," James said lightly. "If you don't at least try, if you walk away without knowing, you will regret it forever. Don't leave with this hanging over you."

Hesitant, Graham dropped his bag, sharing a look with his wolf-brother who lay down beside it, his head on his paws, though his odd eyes still watched the two intently. He walked forward slowly, his footsteps the only sound in the Sun Room.

To James, it felt as though the entire world was holding its breath.

He moved away slowly, loath as he was to lose sight of Emma.

Graham stopped, swallowing hard as he gazed down at her with an unfathomable expression, though he could feel the tears leaving his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, going down on one knee, resting his hands over hers, and the irony of the pose was not lost on James. "I'm so sorry I left you. And I'm sorry I was going to again."

He leaned forward, his nose touching hers.

"I'm alive, Emma. I'm back, and I'm waiting for you. I bid you goodnight, now it's time to wake up."

He lifted one of his hands, cupping her cheek lightly.

"Open your eyes, Emma," he whispered, his thumb brushing her cheekbone, her eyelashes tickling his fingertips. "I'm here."

And just when James was about to scream with frustration, Graham did it.

"I love you, Emma," he breathed, dipping his head and kissing her, his lips gentle on hers as a tear trickled down his cheek and landed on hers.

He fell back immediately, his chest rising and falling as though he had run a mile, his hands fists at his side, watching with wide, hopeful eyes.

And still Emma was dead.

He laughed breathlessly, the sound catching painfully in his throat, before turning on his heel and striding past James, snatching his bag off the floor and leaving the Sun Room, his wolf-brother following behind him, nuzzling sympathetically at his fingers.

James let out his breath, as his grief ripped through him again.

Casting one last glance at Emma, he turned to follow Graham-to comfort? To say goodbye? He wasn't sure-fighting back a howl of misery.

He heard a slight rustling sound behind him.

He spun back around, frozen at the sight before him.

A second later he was running to his daughter's side, staring at her in amazement, smiling, laughing, crying, as she gripped his wrist with warm, strong fingers, her other hand already pulling the flowers from her hair.

She turned her head slightly, her frightened gaze falling on her father, begging him for answers.

His mind contained only one thought, echoing it over and over again because of the sheer joy it created:

Emma's eyes were open.


	12. For the Kingdom

Don't own any quotes or characters used below, nor do I own Once Upon a Time.

Sorry for the wait, I did mean to update this sooner.

I've also just noticed how many reviews, follows and favourites this story has, and I'd like to thank everyone who has done any of those things and read it; the response is really not what I was expecting, I'm very grateful and so glad that you like it.

And without further ado, here is the next chapter, hope you enjoy it.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

**For the Kingdom**

Emma paced restlessly, keeping her spine straight, shoulders back as she had been taught to, her head held high, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, arms loose at her side, her footsteps muffled by the grass beneath her feet.

A month had passed since her awakening. Since then, the kingdom had been readying for battle; the castle guards exchanging their decorative uniforms for plate armour, all those who were loyal and able to fight called to battle, the ring of steel becoming as familiar as the birds singing.

The transformation of Emma had been the largest of all.

She had awoken terrified, clutching at her father, holding him as close and tight as she could as she buried her head in his chest, sobbing away fear and heartache that she hadn't even understood, one hand raking her hair for daises or chrysanthemums or God knows what flowers they were, the other drawing blood with her nails, barely noticing her baby blanket tangled around her fingers, clearly having gotten caught in her panic.

Once she had calmed herself-and convinced James he truly wasn't losing his mind-they had returned to the throne room, awaiting Snow's return, laughing excitedly when Henry had barrelled into the hall, throwing himself at Emma and not leaving her side for the rest of the day, sleeping beside her in the night.

It was the first time he called her Mom; it was the first time she realised she worthy to be his Mom.

Her reunion with Snow had been far more subdued, accompanied by gentle hugs and silent tears on her mother's part, whilst Emma continually reminded both her parents that she was planning on going anywhere soon again.

She hadn't realised she'd brought her baby blanket with her until Henry pulled at it, a questioning frown on his face. She'd laughed it off, though she didn't let go of it for the rest of the day, something neither of her parents missed.

She'd slept with it ever since.

Emma's reunion with Graham had been cancelled; James had searched for him after once Henry arrived-and Emma wasn't alone; he was determined to never leave her on her own again, something she was still working on putting a stop to-but found the halls empty. He had later been told by a guard that he had left, his despair too great, his love for Emma too much to handle with her body so close.

No one knew when-or even if-he would return.

She had trained hard since then, learning to ride, fight with a sword, shoot with a bow and arrow, even how to handle a mace and Morningstar.

She might not be the best in the world, but it was good enough for her.

Or at least it would have to be; time was up.

Today was the day of battle.

Snow had told them of her meeting with Regina the day after Emma's revival, already laying plans with James and the rest of their council, resulting in many hushed, secret meetings behind locked doors, where Emma had fought for her place amongst them, despite the inexperience she had, promising herself she would watch and listen intently.

But for some reason as she sat at that table with them all, she had found herself rising to her feet, and heard her own voice speak.

And now here she was.

For it was her who would lead the army; she would lead the charge, she would be the first to breach enemy lines, and she would do it all for the kingdom.

If the kingdom was safe from Regina, so was Henry, her mother, her father, August, even Graham wherever he was, as well as the rest of Storybrooke.

Even if it wasn't Storybrooke anymore. But she tried not to think about that too much.

She also tried not to think about just how much had changed, how she had gone from a non-believer to a main character in Henry's book in a matter of weeks.

She was failing miserably.

"Are you ready?"

She jumped, her armour clanking together. She had asked for armour that would allow her to move easily, and been given some-she thought it was steel but she wasn;t sure; she was already too aware of her lack of knowledge, she didn't want to highlight in anymore than she had to-that was both lightweight and strong, and a helmet bare of any ornamentation or plumes, the visor dropdown.

She hated the helmet with a passion, but bore it with the grim realisation that if she didn't wear it she'd probably be dead within ten seconds.

When the full suit had been delivered to her, it had arrived in gleaming white and gold, roses embossed on the shoulders and elbows, a crest across the chest.

"That's mine and your mother's," James had explained shyly, and if she wasn't mistaken, he had blushed with embarrassment. "I thought you would like it."

"It's beautiful," she'd admitted, before adding quietly, "Thank you. The roses too?" He had laughed then, and any awkwardness she had felt faded on the spot.

"No. They're for you, the rose of the kingdom. When you were…asleep, all I could think was that you were the golden rose of the kingdom. And you are, Emma. You will always be my golden rose."

And then it had been her turn to cry, something she had found herself doing an awful lot since she had gained a family.

A few days later, she had also requested her own banner to carry into battle; a golden rose on a white background.

James had agreed immediately.

It wasn't the most terrifying of banners, but it was what she wanted.

It was also James who had designed her sword, perfectly balanced with a one-and-half-hand pommel, golden roses inlaid into the crossguard, the blade bright steel.

She had never seen anything more beautiful.

She was _physically_ ready for battle; although she did lack a shield, but she had spent so long arguing that she didn't want one that she counted this as a triumph.

She'd even chosen a horse; a wonderful white stallion who she called Starlight-she had been a child once, and all children want ponies, and all children pick out names, and she'd call her horse whatever she wanted, even if her parents had laughed slightly when she told them-the perfect steed for the Savior.

And she liked the idea of Starlight leading her into battle. It was sure to be a dark and bloody thing, what could a little light guiding her way hurt?

But when she really stopped and thought about it, was she _mentally_ ready?

Was she ready to kill and maim? Was she ready to see blood on her hands for the rest of her life? Was she ready to _fight_ for her life?

Was she ready to let go of everything she had known since she was a child, accept that this was her reality now, that she was a princess, she was the Saviour and this was her chance to do it all at once?

"I don't know," she whispered, noticing how tight her throat was and clearing it.

"No one ever is," James said soothingly, his own armour knocking together as he entered her tent to meet her. "That's the way of battle."

"What if no one follows me? What if they think it's not worth it? How am I supposed to win?" she asked desperately, glancing down at her desk, the plans and maps thrown askew.

"They will. You will. Have faith, Emma."  
She snorted. "I'm not so good with faith."

"I'm scared too," he told her quietly, watching her with weary sadness.

"You're a good fighter. You'll survive this, I know you will. So will Snow."

"And so will you. I won't allow you to die again," he joked, though his smile was somewhat forced.

It was silent for a moment, before she finally worked up the courage to ask.

"Where is she?"

"Your mother?"

Emma nodded, unsure of whether she really wanted to know.

"Last I saw her, she was gathering her merry band together."

She smiled briefly, asking quietly, "The dwarves?"

"Mm, and Red, of course." Seeing Emma's downtrodden expression, he added softly, "She loves you, Emma. If she's not here, it's probably because she's so busy doing everything she can to keep you as safe as possible."

She opened her mouth to answer but was cut off.

"Your Majesty, Princess Emma, you have a visitor," her guard called into her; she'd point blank refused at first, but James had insisted; once he had started mentioning assassins she found she was rather keen on the idea. "Shall I allow him to enter?"

"Who is it?" she asked, grabbing her gloves and pulling them on so whoever it was wouldn't see just how hard her hands were shaking.

"He says he's an old friend."

She frowned at James, who shrugged confusedly.

"Let him in," she ordered.

The curtain was pulled back, her guard the only person visible.

And then a wolf darted into her tent, its odd eyes darting between the two.

"Graham," she breathed, starting towards him immediately, before he was even fully inside, throwing her arms around him and holding him tight.

A second later she pushed him away and punched his chest.

"You couldn't have waited five more minutes?" she asked incredulously.

Her father had told her what had happened in the Sun Room, who had woken her up.

_Of course, _she had thought, remembering how his voice had saved her from her own mind, kept her alive even when her heart had already ceased to beat. _Of course it was you. _

All she had said to her father was, "I wished he'd stayed."

"You didn't wake up," Graham said brokenly, drawing her back to him in the present. "I kissed you, and you stayed asleep. I only heard a few days ago, I've been deep in the forest, away from men. I came here as soon as I heard. I want to fight with you."

"I've already lost you once," she said raggedly, and she was surprised by this reaction, by how glad she was to see him, about how every wall she had constructed in the other world had crumbled in this one.

Perhaps it was the shock of dying, or maybe the fact that she was in a land with magic and was apparently the Princess of it, or that she was about to take part in what would most likely be a devastating battle and her priorities had been sorted.

Graham, however, had an answer ready.

"And I have already lost you once. Emma, let me fight by your side. Let's do this together. We were partners once, why can't we be again?"

"As I recall you were my boss. And because you could get hurt," she snapped.

"So could you," he replied calmly.

"That's different. If I die for the cause I'm a martyr, if you die you're a fool."

James coughed quietly, reminding them of his presence.

"If I may?" he asked.

Emma nodded.

"Graham's a good archer, Emma," James said quietly, the voice of reason in her insane life. "You could use him."

"Alright, then he stays with the archers," she said, and she thought her tone made it clear the case was closed.

"No, I'm riding with you," he argued, narrowing his eyes, and she glared back, wondering if maybe he was immune to the tone after hearing so often in Storybrooke.

"Can you shoot from horseback?"

"That-"

"Can you shoot from horseback?" she repeated, holding her hand to her ear.

"No," he admitted churlishly.

"Well then. You stay with the archers, watch our backs."

"Stay behind you mean," he said quickly, stepping forwards so they touched, their chests rising and falling together.

Just as she was about to retort, he changed the subject.

"Where's Henry?" he asked, his voice far too casual for someone who was determined to weasel his way onto the front line.

She stared at him suspiciously as she answered.

"Tied up and locked in a dungeon deep beneath the castle in a labyrinth of tunnels."

"He's with Pinocchio in the castle," James said quietly as Graham raised his eyebrows in alarm, casting his daughter a half-amused, half-exasperated look.

"Who?"

"Pinocchio," Emma said. "The little wooden puppet, 'I'm a real boy, I got no strings to hold me down' Pinocchio."

Graham rolled his eyes.

Before any of them could say anything else, a horn sounded.

"They're coming," James said tersely, his entire body alert, practically humming with energy.

"You stay with the archers, no argument," she said hurriedly, whirling around to grab her helmet, grudgingly fitting it on over her bun.

James ran from the tent, calling over his shoulder to Emma, "You have a few minutes, I'll see you on the frontline. Be careful."

"Stay safe!" she shouted back, her heart suddenly twisting in her chest.

"You're going to be fine," Graham said firmly, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"You promise?" she asked in a small voice.

"I promise. How can you not be with me covering your back?"

She looked up at him, a small smile on her face.

"I love you," she whispered, remembering how well saying those three little words had gone the last time.

This time she wasn't disappointed.

"I love you too," he murmured, bowing his head, his lips meeting hers, the kiss gentle and quick, leaving her wanting more.

"You have to be careful," she told him, her lips brushing his with every word. "Give me something to come back to."

"You too, Emma. Be safe."

She nodded curtly.

"When I…died," she started uneasily, unsure of whether this was really the time for this conversation. But considering the fact she could be dead in just a few minutes, she decided to go for it.

"When I died, you spoke to me. How did you bring me back?"

Graham frowned, staring down at her through confused eyes.

"Bring you back? Emma, you were still dead. Or asleep I suppose."

"This may sound strange but given this whole situation I doubt it. I was having nightmares but they weren't really nightmares, they were my memories. They were…I don't know, on a loop, I guess tormenting me for eternity or whatever Regina wanted. But then someone spoke to me-_you _spoke to me-and your voice made them go away, it took all the pain away, but without them I started to…fade, I think, everything was turning to black and-I think now it means I was actually dying instead of just being…whatever the hell I was, like you'd helped me find peace, and I remember thinking you were an angel," she said quickly, ending with a slightly breathless, completely nervous laugh. When she continued, her voice was soft.

"But you spoke again and it was like this flash of light, so bright it almost blinded me-or my mind anyway-and then it was like I was still there but I didn't have to watch my memories anymore, I was just…trapped."

"You were awake the entire time?" he asked, and his voice was uneven.

"No. I was...I don't even know. It was like I fell asleep, but it was different to how it felt before. It wasn't as…heavy. It sounds stupid, I know, but I can't explain it any better. The next thing I know there's flowers in my hair and my dad was nearly having a heart attack next to me."

He fought back a smile then.

"You looked beautiful with your flowers. Like a fairy princess," he said, his voice shaking with laughter. "And that _dress_…well-"

She hit him then, and it was so easy to forget that she had to go so soon, that she was about to enter a fight for her life that she wasn't sure she'd walk away from.

"So you don't remember what I said to you before I kissed you?" he asked, his voice once again solemn.

"No. I dream things, things that must have happened, hear people talking, feel someone holding my hand, but I can only remember Snow and Henry. And I think August," she added uncertainly. "I think I'll remember it all in time."

Graham moved closer, resting his forehead against hers.

"Shame," he murmured, his tone serious. "It was a good speech."

She laughed, her first true laugh in what felt like years, and Graham gazed down at her with warm eyes, a bright smile on his face.

"I held you in my arms, and I spoke to you, and then we took you to the castle. And if those words saved your life, then I shall say them to you every night we spend together for the rest of our lives," he promised.

She closed her eyes, her throat too tight to speak.

She knew if she stayed any longer she would never leave, and so she forced herself to step away, pressing her hand against his heart.

"You got it back," she said softly.

"Because of you. For you," he amended.

"I missed you," she said tremulously, though she was smiling.

"I know," he answered, and again she wanted to wrap herself up in his voice, weather this storm with him, side by side.

But this was her fight.

"Goodbye, Graham."

"This isn't a goodbye. This is a 'see you later' situation."

Her smile dropped. "Maybe."  
She walked away quickly, forcing back the tears.

As she did so, she noticed something padding alongside her.

She stopped abruptly, fighting the urge to throw her hands in the air.

"Oh no you don't, go back with him, keep him safe," she told the wolf, staring at it-him? Was it even a him?-sternly.

It snorted, trotting past her.

"Hey!"

It paused, turning its head back to stare at her, the look in its odd eyes saying, 'in your own time.'

"Fine," she huffed. "But you better not scare Starlight."

It ignored her, waiting for her to catch up before they weaved their way through tents together.

Their camp lay to the east of the battlefield, chosen by Snow and Regina weeks ago.

Her army was already in place, Starlight waiting for her to the side, allowing her to ride along the entire front line.

Looking down the line, she could see her father reaching for her mother, the two holding each other tightly, both with their eyes closed, though she could see Snow's lips moving.

She felt something inside her break at the sight of them.

She closed her own eyes, breathing deep for a moment.

The wolf snuffled at her gloved hand, prompting her to open her eyes and get it all over with.

"You ready?" she asked.

It blinked once.

"Then let's go," she said grimly.

_Just like Narnia, _she told herself firmly as she mounted Starlight, trotting along her front line. _I am Peter Pevensie, and she is the White Witch. Good always wins. _

If she was Peter Pevensie, why didn't she have a unicorn?

After all this was over, she was getting a unicorn.

She deserved a unicorn.

_Focus, _she scolded, suddenly feeling like she was ten-years-old all over again, before turning to face her army. _Oh, crap._

They were watching her expectantly, fear in every eye.

_Speech, make a speech, make it good. _

"I'm no hero. I'm not a warrior or a knight," she heard herself say; it was as though she'd lost control of her mouth. She desperately wanted to shut it. "But I have just as much reason to fight as any of you. The Evil Queen took my childhood, took my son, took my life. She destroyed our happiness with her curse. Our happiness!" she echoed, all the while still telling herself to shut her mouth.

A roar went through the ranks, swords, shields and spears raised into the air.

She took courage from it.

And all of a sudden, she remembered Sam's speech.

She had told Jefferson that Alice's Adventures in Wonderland was a book she actually read and that was true; she didn't particularly like to read, but give her a book with a fantasy land and she'd have it read in a day-she realised now this was beyond ironic.

Maybe that's why she fought so hard against believing in the curse, but that wasn't important now.

When she was younger, maybe nine or ten, she had found three beaten, clearly well read copies of the Lord of the Rings in one of her foster homes, and they had fast become some of her favourite books, comforting her at times when she needed the release of Middle-Earth, the films too when they had come out.

Everyone she talked to about the films loved Sam's speech, and whilst she had found it sad and beautiful, she had never thought it would fit her life.

And now here she was, only instead of Frodo saying, _"I can't do this, Sam,"_ it was her.

And Sam's words answered her, comforted her again as they always did, filling her heart and mind; she felt them reverberate inside her, filling her with the faith her father was always going on about.

"_I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something."_

"_What are we holding onto, Sam?"_

And it was her who asked along with Frodo, as she stared at the men before her.

"_That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo…and it's worth fighting for."_

And suddenly she knew what to say. She knew everything.

This was her path and she had every right to turn back, to run like hell in the opposite direction.

But she didn't, because she had Henry and her parents and Graham.

And that was why she had taken every change in her life with good grace, because accepting them meant she got to stay with her family, and that was all she had ever wanted.

So, seated upon her horse, sword at her hip, in full armour, she accepted it all, and she knew now that she would never turn back.

"There is some good in this world," she said, and Sam said it right along with her, his words in her mouth, "and it's worth fighting for. Ride now with me for your family, for your homes. Ride now with me for your lives. Ride now with me for the true king and queen. Ride now with me for everything good in this world! Ride now with me! For the kingdom!" she yelled, turning back to face the oncoming army, hearing her own echoing her words, as she unsheathed her sword, holding it up above her, the tip pointing to the clear, blue sky, glinting in the sun.

"For the kingdom!" she screamed again, her heart pounding, her blood on fire, her entire body trembling with anticipation.

Again the cry was echoed.

She glanced to the side, her banner blowing in the wind, the rose flickering in and out of sight.

_I am the golden rose of the kingdom._

One final time, she called the words, shutting her visor, nudging Starlight into a trot, them a canter, and finally a gallop, the ground rumbling beneath her, her army thundering behind her.

_I am the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming._

And as they drew closer she forgot her own words whilst still they were cried, with shouts of "Ride!" and "For the princess!" as inside her mind the only voice she heard was Samwise Gamgee's.

She raised her sword, preparing for the jarring jolt that would soon follow as she noted her target, as the first arrow flew past her and hit its mark, as horses snorted, men screamed with fear and bloodlust, Graham's wolf snarling as it darted ahead, leaping for a hag's throat.

And as she spilt her first drop of blood, still shouting herself hoarse, one part of the speech continued to fly around her mind, and she knew it would stay with her forever.

"_That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo…and it's worth fighting for." _

She understood now. She understood so clearly.

And that was why she couldn't let Regina win.

_I am the Saviour._


	13. The Final Battle

**Chapter Thirteen**

**The Final Battle**

It was chaos.

She couldn't think, could barely breathe, her mind completely jammed, her muscles moving of their own accord, parrying, defending, killing, anything to get keep her alive for a few more seconds.

Horses with no riders ran rampant, trampling more than a few unfortunate souls; creatures she had never even imagined in her darkest daydreams tore men apart, and all the while the sun shone down, the sky a perfect blue, so at odds to all that was happening on the ground beneath it.

She was coated in grime and gore and sweat, the blade of her sword dyed red.

She had never felt more alive in her entire life.

Yes, she was in a nightmare, horrific things happening before her eyes, but whenever someone came for her, whenever steel met steel or her sword met flesh, her heart jolted, sending electricity skittering over her skin, her entire body thrumming with energy.

She had fallen from Starlight soon after breaking upon the front line of Regina's army, torn from her saddle by a soldier clad in black leather. She had killed him swiftly-was he her fourth kill? Her fifth? Did it really matter anymore?-but she had been set upon by more soldiers before she could remount.

She promised herself she would find him when the battle was over.

Until then she was doing just fine on foot.

There was still no sign of Regina.

She hadn't expected her to be in the middle of the fighting, nor to even lead the attack, but soon she would meet her on the battlefield, she had to.

Her only worry was Regina's magical advantage; what good was a sword if Regina blew her up before she even got close enough to stab her with it?

A part of her was terrified she would go for Snow instead of her, but another larger part of her told that part to shut the hell up; if Regina knew she was alive again-and you could be sure Regina knew; she had her fingers in everything even in this world-then she would sure as hell come straight for her.

As distracted as she was by these thoughts, she still took down every attacker, her muscles succeeding where her brain failed, reacting to every little thing, instinct making up for inexperience.

And just like that, Regina was standing before her.

She wore no armour, instead clad in a fitted red dress-the colour of fresh blood, Emma noted with disdain, having more than enough already covering her-a ring resting at the hollow of her throat on a chain of gold.

"Miss Swan," she called, and by her tone they may as well have been back in the station discussing a case, not in the middle of a war with one another. "I believe you're waiting for me."

Emma couldn't speak, fear and adrenaline binding her tongue.

Instead, she lunged forward, bringing her sword down upon Regina's shoulder and cleaving her in two-

If she hadn't moved; one minute she was before her, the next she was being thrown into the air, clinging to her sword for dear life.

She hit the ground hard, driving all air from her body.

The shock subsided abruptly and she could breathe again, gasping raggedly as her back ached upwards, pain burning its way up her spine.

"And they say you can defeat me," Regina said softly, and Emma realised she was just playing with her, taunting her in ways she couldn't fight back.

Gritting her teeth with determination, she twisted herself, climbing painstakingly back to her feet and turning to face Regina again.

Again she charged, and again she was thrown back, and each time it was harder to get up, her breath taking that much longer to catch.

Once more she smashed into the ground, and her sword was knocked loose from her hand, landing only a foot away but it may as well have been a mile.

This time was different.

She shrieked, pain lancing across her forehead and a moment later she felt a sticky wetness running down the side of her shielded face, tricking down her neck.

Her fingers fumbled at her helmet, and she realised the impact had dented the metal, crushing it into her skull at her temple.

She ripped it off, the twisted metal cutting a path across her skin, digging into her gloves and scratching the thick leather slightly, but thankfully not enough to leave her hands unprotected.

Her hair came loose from its bun, falling around her face and sticking instantly to the blood and sweat covering her skin; she felt blood run down her nose, dripping to the ground like a scarlet tear. Her skin was on fire, her forehead smarting from the cut, stretching from her right temple to the middle of her forehead, as yet more blood fell into her eye; she wiped it away roughly, the leather only aggravating her torn skin.

Her head ached, dizziness washing through her, the heat only adding to her discomfort, leaving her weak and thirsty, her throat searing with each laboured breath.

_Move, _she told herself harshly. _Get up and move. _

"How weak you truly are," Regina murmured, smiling sweetly at the sight of Emma crawling forwards, a snarl building in her chest as she snatched for her sword, dragging it to her side and using it as a cane, leaning upon it heavily as she struggled to stand, her entire body trembling with exertion. "And how deluded to believe that you could ever beat me."

"Maybe," Emma said hoarsely, her eyes flickering from Regina to something behind her. "Maybe not. Guess we'll have to see."

And that was when the wolf pounced.

Its teeth sank into Regina's unprotected side, tearing away flesh and shattering at least three of her ribs, the cracks audible even over the sounds of war, blood splattering the ground as she screamed, agony intermingling with fury.

With a blast of power, the wolf was knocked away, but it was enough.

Before Regina could regain her balance Emma was upon her, driving her stumbling backwards as she dodged the sweeping blade.

Her mind scrambled for a spell, for anything, but her magic was out of her grasp when she was in such a state.

Fear blinded her, and suddenly her skin was white-hot, and for a moment she thought she was being burnt alive, flames licking up her chest.

"Oh look at that, you do bleed. If it bleeds, it can die, or so I've heard," Emma said coldly, and Regina realised she had been wounded again.

Her hand flew to her chest, blood running in rivulets across her skin, staining her hands a deadly red as her clumsy fingers explored.

A deep cut ran from her collarbone to beneath her breast, her skin ripped and raw; the wound in her side was already taking its toll, causing her vision to blur, her hands to shake as though caught in a fever.

She doubled over, her arms crossed over her torso as she struggled to stop her own blood, holding her insides from falling out, to catch her breath against her broken ribs.

She frowned incredulously; she could not lose. She would not lose.

She looked up and found Emma standing before her, a vision in white and gold, the blood covering her glittering like inlaid rubies upon the metal, her golden hair framing her face like a flaming halo, outlined by the almost blinding sunlight, her sword held out in front of her, its point directed straight at Regina's heart.

In that moment she was not the Saviour, Regina was sure; she was an avenging angel, sent from Heaven to destroy the evil Regina had become, more glorious than any who had come before her, as radiant as the sun above.

_Forgive me, _Regina begged silently, and she knew not who she was pleading mercy to. _Please forgive me. _

_Daniel, _she thought, and his face filled her mind, giving her the courage to speak; she could still snatch triumph from Emma. It wasn't over until she was dead.

And she was still breathing, still bleeding, her heart still beating in her damaged chest.

It was not over yet.

"Just what exactly do you plan on doing with that?" she asked, her voice strong and clear, so at odds to her rattling breaths.

"Well, according to just about everyone, I'm the Saviour, and apparently I'm the only one who can beat you, and God knows I want to do that. So I'm going to kick you into another world, just like you did to them."

"And how do you plan on doing that without magic?" Regina sneered, but despite her confidence internally she began to scream, terror seizing her like an iron fist.

"You ever heard of Hell?"

And with that, Emma lunged forward, her lips forming words Regina couldn't hear over the sudden roaring in her ears; she watched with wide, tear-filled eyes, steel and death and blood her only thoughts.


	14. Red as Blood

Firstly, over one hundred reviews, thank you!

Secondly, I apologise in advance for how many times I use the word "blood" in this chapter, it was only when I read through it that I realised but as there is no other word I can use, it'll have to stay the same I'm afraid.

Thirdly, this is the penultimate chapter, and I will hopefully have the final one up in the next few days.

And lastly, I hope you enjoy the chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Red as Blood**

Regina opened her mouth in a soundless scream, whatever air she had left rushing out of her chest and leaving her hollow.  
Her hands scrabbled to where the sword disappeared into her flesh, her fingers wrapping tightly around the blade, cutting deeply into her palms, as though checking it was indeed her who had been stabbed.

Emma smiled grimly, her eyes dark, and for the first time Regina truly feared her, this woman without magic, the avenging angel before her eyes.

"Goodnight, Your Majesty," she murmured, her voice low and soft. "May your dreams be _sweet_."

On the final word, Emma twisted the sword abruptly, gouging deeper into Regina's poisoned heart, the blade disappearing as she did so, embedded to the hilt; Regina let out a choked breath, blood flying out her mouth and hitting the ground between them, the grass beneath them now churned and destroyed, the mud dyed a deep scarlet.

"Well look at that. Lips red as roses, my Mom has. It would seem yours are red as blood," Emma hissed, and a moment later she took a step back, her sword leaving Regina's body with a sickening _hiss_, glistening like a crimson flame in her hand as the sunlight caught it.

Regina's knees buckled, her entire body swaying, each heartbeat slower than the last yet the blood still pulsed through her desperately clawing fingers as she stared up at Emma in disbelief.

"No," she mouthed, coughing up yet more blood, her own body turning traitor and suffocating her.

"Yes," Emma said softly. She went down on one knee, sword in one hand, her other reaching forward to grab Regina's face, her nails digging into her jaw even through the stiff leather of her gloves.

She smiled truly then, her eyes alight with triumph.

The angel was gone now, its duty done; this was the Saviour, a warrior princess for a new age of the kingdom.

"I win," she whispered, her voice caressing the words, Regina's eyes locked on her lips as she released her hold on her face, her body tilting backwards.

She was dead before she hit the ground.

It was a spur of the moment thing, and no doubt she'd be looked down upon for it, but Emma wanted proof of her conquest, a spoil of war.  
She knew exactly what she wanted; she stabbed her sword into the ground beside her, pulling off her gloves with trembling hands and reaching for the ring at Regina's neck. With a sharp tug, the chain snapped easily, the ring cool in her hand despite the heat of the day.

She wondered for a second just what Regina was doing with a ring like this, but then decided she didn't really give a crap.

A darker part of her wished that it was a ruby, so it would always remind her of Regina's blood on her blade.

She pushed that part away, locking it at the back of her mind, but she knew she would never forget her thought, nor would she regret it.

Keeping her eyes on Regina's slack face, she slid the ring onto her middle finger for safe-keeping; she couldn't help but wonder if it was her grandfather's, and if it was then surely Snow would want it back, and it alleviated her already growing guilt to believe that she was reuniting her mother with something that should have always belonged to her.

She got to her feet, noticing for the first time the soldiers that had gathered around her, some wearing awed, slightly fearful expressions, others grinning at her through their helmets.

She also noticed that most of Regina's army had scattered pretty quickly in the thirty seconds she'd been dead.

She stared at them, suddenly awkward and unsure.

What did she do now?

Say, "Ok, we won, time to go home now?"

She'd never seen that in a film before.

"Victory!" she crowed, pulling her sword from the ground and holding it to the sky, the stained blade flashing in the setting sun as she threw her head back and exhaled sharply with relief, the soldiers around her erupting into cheers; now that they did do in films.

Before she could take another step, she collapsed in on herself, her legs suddenly too weak to hold her as it began to sink in, her entire body feeling like a live wire, like her skin was too tight to contain its energy.

Ignoring the tingling and what felt like a whole swarm of butterflies in her stomach, she took what felt like the deepest breath in her life and straightened up, sliding her blood-stained sword into its sheath, promising to clean it once she got back to the castle.

Closing her eyes she exhaled slowly, focusing on…well, she wasn't sure exactly what; her mind was all over the place, jumping from one thought to another, making up for the time it had turned off during the battle.

_It's over, you won, they're safe. _

She'd done it

She had saved them all, defeated Regina, just as she was supposed to, just as she would a thousand times over if it meant keeping her family safe.

She had _survived._

For her, that was the most surprising.

"Emma!" she heard someone call, turning towards the sound and letting out a cry of relief as she saw Graham running towards her, his quiver empty.

She met him halfway, throwing her arms around him and holding him tight against her and wanting to pull him closer still.

"Thank God," she murmured, feeling slightly faint, the adrenaline beginning to wear off as everything she had shoved away with her calming breath suddenly hitting her like a punch to the stomach, leaving her shivering and sick. "Thank God."

He pulled back, keeping his arms wrapped around her waist, one of his hands rising to the cut on her head as he frowned at her worriedly.

"What happened to your helmet?"

"Long story. Are you hurt?" she asked hurriedly, her eyes darting from one body part to another, searching for any injuries.

She smiled when she saw his quiver.

"Looks like I beat her just in time; you're all out of arrows, Robin Hood."

He shook his head, laughing slightly, before kissing her, his lips warm and comforting, and she drew strength from him, the tremble in her muscles lessening against the sturdiness of his presence, her triumph once again filling her veins as she saw the pride in his eyes, driving away the darkness for a little longer, for she knew later that she would begin to hate herself, hate that she had killed so many, even if it had all been for a good cause; she already hated herself for taking that damn ring, but there was nothing she could do about it right that second.

But for now, her blood was singing, Graham was in her arms, Henry was safe, her mother and father were-

Her mother and father.

She hadn't spared a thought for them once since the battle had started, and by the looks of it, that had been several hours ago, the sun low in the sky as evening drew close, casting shadows across the battlefield and turning the already nightmarish scene into a true horror.

Where were her parents?

She glanced around, Graham's arms loosening around her as he gazed down at her in concern.

"Emma?"

"Can you see Snow? Or James? I can't see them."

He looked with her, the two releasing their hold on each other-though their hands remained interlocked, their fingers white with the strength of their grip-and making their way slowly across the battlefield.

"She's there," Graham said quickly, pointing with his free hands towards her mother, and Emma saw her tending to the wounded, her face and armour smeared with mud, though she looked unhurt.

Emma closed her eyes, the relief so powerful she was sure she was going to pass out all over again, and she reached out to steady herself against Graham as he untangled his fingers from hers, his arm curving up to catch her should she fall.

"James with her?"

He was silent for too long.

Her eyes shot open, the relief short-lived, and suddenly her veins were full of icy panic, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.

"I can't see him," Graham said softly.

"Where's James?"

"Emma-"

"Where's my Dad?" she asked quietly, glancing around her at the devastation, and she suddenly felt like a child again, crying out in the night for her parents, her real parents, desperate to know where they were, why they weren't with her.

Only know she knew them, and it was a hundred times worse because of it, and because it was James, James who told her stories and was always good to her and didn't give a crap that she was a screw up or that she called her horse Starlight when he clearly hated the name, James, her _Dad. _

Graham grabbed at her hand, reading it all in her eyes.

"Emma, you have to stay here, we need to-Emma, wait!"

But she was already gone, wrenching her hand from his and darting between the dead and dying, opening visors and kneeling beside unrecognisable faces, praying that it wouldn't be him before lurching to her feet again.

"James!" she yelled, desperation clawing at her like a beast, leaving her nerves in ribbons. "James!"

She shuddered to a halt, torn between one direction and another, her feet stumbling as her mind remained undecided.

She wanted to scream, wanted to crawl into a ball and sob until she fell asleep and it would all be over, but she couldn't because her Dad was on his own somewhere and she needed to find him.

"Dad," she mumbled, repeating the word louder and louder and louder until her voice became a battle cry all over again, her throat screaming in protest as her voice grew hoarser, her lips dry.

She realised she was moving again, slipping through mud and blood that had become her world for the moment, but still she ran.

"Dad!" she screamed, tears falling down her bloodied face, creating small, salty rivers through the dirt.

"_Dad!_"

She ran faster, tripping over fallen horses, body parts, chipped weapons, shattered shields, but it didn't stop her; it only pushed her to go faster.

And then she saw him.

"Oh God," she breathed, sprinting further ahead and vaulting over a giant's corpse, skidding to a halt on her knees, her legs twisting beneath her but she shoved the pain away, too focused on her father.

He laid crookedly, his head thrown back, his right arm outstretched for his sword.

And then she saw the wound, his armour pierced at his stomach, dark blood on bright steel, running down his sides and staining the ground below him.

She remembered her earlier wish for a ruby to remember this day by and wanted to be sick, the bile rising in her throat as she stared at the glistening blood on her father's shining armour, so similar to how Regina's had decorated her sword.

She forced it back, crawling closer to him until her knees were pressed against his side, the grass warm and wet beneath her, squelching as she moved.

"Dad-oh God-wake up, Dad, I'm here, please, it's ok now, you're going to be alright, it's over, Dad, I'm here, _please_," she said through numb lips, tripping over her words, unsure of what she was even saying, only knowing that she had to continue to speak or lose him forever.

She leant forward, unbuckling his helmet on her fourth attempt and throwing it away from her with an exasperated scream before loosening his chest plate and removing it as gently as she could so as to get to the wound.

She pressed her hands against it immediately, hoping to whatever God existed in this world that it would staunch the bleeding.

"I need help, the Prince-King-whatever is hurt," she called shakily to a group of soldiers across from them, her voice breaking slightly on the last word.

They stared at her in confusion, clearly still in shock from the battle but any sympathy she felt for them was nothing compared to the fear her father would bleed to death before her.

"What are you waiting for, get help!"

They jerked into motion, bowing slightly and muttering, "Of course, Princess, right away."

James shifted beneath her, groaning low in the back of his throat as his eyelids fluttered weakly.

"Hey," she said breathlessly, relief coursing through her and leaving her light-headed for the third time, but she realised just how much stronger it was, how it almost hurt to find her father, her heart slamming into her ribs as she stared down at him, her ragged breathing almost deafening compared to his little rasping gasps.

Despite it all, she found it hard to fight off the exhaustion that soon followed; her vision began to flicker, black spots fading in and out at the edges of her eyes, her hands went into spasms, her entire body suddenly wracked with them, so she only increased the pressure and blinked quickly, all the while breathing as slowly as she could, matching her breaths with her father's.

Perhaps it was the added pain but with great struggle James forced his eyes open, focusing them blearily on Emma's.

"You found me," he breathed, his voice groggy and rough, but he was speaking, so that was enough for her.

She smiled, and she realised she was still crying as she laughed, the tears landing like falling rain on the bloodied ground beneath her.

"I will always find you."

"I see you've learnt the family motto," he muttered dryly, his lips twitching.

He glanced down, clearly attempting to see what had happened to him and tried to sit up, resulting in him instantly hissing with pain.

"No you don't," Emma scolded, knocking him back with her elbow. "You have to keep still. Help is coming, I promise you."

"Don't go," he whispered, his eyes closing again. "Please don't go."

"I'm right here," she said in a choked voice. "I'm not going anywhere, I'm right here. Just stay awake, ok? Keep talking to me." She glanced behind her, and shouted, "He's lost a lot of blood, where's help?"

"Doc is on his way, Princess, he comes as quickly as he can," a soldier said calmly, bowing his head towards her.

She turned back, deliberately not looking at her hands, not even glancing down at where she knelt, terrified of how much blood she would see.

_Red as roses, a ruby red as blood, red as blood, blood, blood-_

"Do you remember when I was in the hospital?" she blurted out, desperate to keep her mind off more morbid thoughts, determined to keep him awake. "When I was asleep?"

"Which time? When you were actually unconscious or when we asked them to knock you out because you had turned into an insomniac due to your insistent belief that you didn't need rest to recover?" he whispered, so faintly she had to lean closer to hear him, his words slurred and disjointed but she got the general gist as his voice shook slightly with amusement, though his eyes still remained closed.

She glared at him even though he couldn't see her. "When they first brought me in. The whole time," she added with a frown, realising it was true.

"Of course. I remember every moment of it," he said matter-of-factly, and she could tell by the expression on his face that those memories would stay with him until the day he died, and not for any sentimental reasons.

"You-what did you do?" she asked, wondering if she was a terrible person for asking someone who was clearly suffering from severe blood loss question.

_Save first, guilt later. _

"I told you stories."

She smiled, though it looked more like a grimace as it tore at her, making the tears fall harder.

"And now I'm going to tell you a story, but you have to stay awake. You have to listen, Dad," she cried, gritting her teeth against the howl of misery trying to fight its way out of her chest.

"You called me Dad," he said, sighing contentedly, a small smile on his face.

"Of course," she said, moving closer and settling herself beside him, never decreasing the pressure in her arms. "Of course I did. You're my Dad, and I love you, so please stay awake."

"Anything for you," he murmured, and at last he reopened his eyes, gazing up at her with love and admiration. "My daughter, my golden rose."

"I'm going to tell you a story," she repeated. "What story do you want to hear?"

"One that makes you happy," he answered, the curiosity clear in his gaze.

Emma swallowed, thinking carefully for a moment before saying, "When I found out I was-that I was pregnant, I wouldn't let myself-I couldn't choose a name for him-for Henry. He wasn't mine, it wasn't right. But I did. I chose a perfect name for him, and I want you to know it; I was going to call him James, but I couldn't. But the important bit-the bit I want you to know-is that I didn't know you-how could I?-but some part of you stayed with me, the whole time I was growing up. I wish now more than anything that I had, but he is named for you. Maybe I can convince him to use it as a middle name, but he is named for you. Even after everything-in some part of me-I remembered you. And that makes me happy, because I could never ask for a better father, there is no one better, so don't you dare go to sleep on me," she finished hurriedly, nudging him sharply as his head titled to the side.

He righted himself, smiling gently at her.

"Thank you. Emma. Thank you."

"You are most welcome," she said tremulously. "Thank you for sticking me in that wardrobe, for-"

_Dying to save my life, _she added silently, but she knew that he understood.

He shook his head dazedly, closing his eyes once again and frowning. "No. No, don't thank me for that. That was…any father would have done that. I would do it again in a heartbeat. Never thank me for that."

"I owe you everything," she cried, and it scared her at how much emotion she was showing, at the broken quality to her voice. "I am sorry for what happened to you, I am so sorry. For everything that happened before, and for this, for dragging you into this fight-my fight-when I should have kept you safe. I was supposed to save you and now-" She broke off, forcing herself to breathe before saying in the calmest voice she could, "And I will do everything to make it up to you, I promise."

"Emma, listen to me. Are you listening?"

She nodded, realising belatedly that he couldn't see her, but she needn't have worried; he opened his eyes, meeting her tearful gaze and holding it, soothing her with just a look as her chest loosened, allowing her to breathe again; the last thing she needed was to have panic attack, and she felt closer to a heart attack than anything else.

"You don't have to do anything, _anything,_ to make me forgive you because there is nothing I need to forgive. I will love you no matter what, just as I have since the moment I laid eyes on you. I held you for minutes before I had to put you in that wardrobe and I loved you, and I have never loved anything more than I love you. I doubt I ever will."

"Even Mom?" she asked in a small voice.

"Even Mom," he echoed sombrely.

She laughed, ignoring how it sounded like a sob.

"Tell me more," he said softly. "Please tell me more."

And so she went on, telling him everything and nothing, her entire story from start to finish, his eyes steady on hers, his blood warm on her hands, though finally slowing.

And that was how Snow and Doc found them, long after the sun had set and the sky had turned to dusky blue; Emma kneeling at her father's side, as they found and saved each other once again.


	15. Happily Ever After

So here we are, the final chapter.

I'd like to thank every single person who read, reviewed, followed and favourited this story; this has been the most-reviewed and -followed fic I have ever done, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it.

And now on with the chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Happily Ever After**

"Mom, can I go hunting with Graham?"

"No hunting until you're eighteen."

"Can I practice archery with Graham?"

"No archery until you're eighteen."

"Can I go riding with Graham?"

"Can Graham ride a horse?"

"Well no, but see, I could teach him and-"

"No. Why don't you go sit in the garden with your Grandmother?"

"Grand_ma, _not Grand_mother_."

"Oh, I _do_ apologise."

"No you don't, you're just saying that to-"

"Hey, Mom, Henry wants to help you with your roses!"

"No I don't, I want to-"

"Oh, Henry, that's so sweet of you. Come on out and we'll get started," Snow called in, and Henry could hear the delight in her voice.

It had been nearly three weeks since the battle, and life was finally beginning to return to normal for the residents of Storybrooke, Maine.

Or, at least, as normal as it had been twenty-eight years ago.

For Emma and Henry, life differed between amazing and annoying with every new discovery.

The lack of plumbing, however, had left both dumb-founded.

Exchanges such as before between Emma and Henry became the norm, with Henry ready to become the best knight in the kingdom and Emma wanting to hold onto that title just a little longer.

For Snow and Charming, it was regaining what they should have had in the first place.  
For Emma in particular, it was having a real family for the first time in her life.

Scowling at his smirking mother, Henry went out to join Snow, his face brightening when he saw her despite the less than exciting task of pruning the rose garden.

Inside, Emma laughed, ignoring the nudge in the ribs Graham gave her.

"You're cruel, Princess," he murmured, a smile forming on his lips.

"I'm a mother, _Huntsman_. He's not even eleven yet, I don't want him growing up with a sword in one hand and a bow in the other."

"Last I checked, a bow is a two-handed weapon."

"Oh shut up," she muttered, leaning her head against his shoulder, his arm wrapping around her waist.

"How's your father?" he asked quietly.

"Good, I think. I mean, there's no real medicine here, and for the first few days I was convinced he was going to end up with an infection and die of blood poisoning."

"Ever the optimist," Graham muttered, but she was already gone, lost in her own mind, something she was prone to doing lately, ever since the battle.

She had stayed by her father's bedside the first week, his hand locked in hers as she talked endlessly, her voice growing hoarse, her throat raw, sleeping only for a few minutes at a time, telling him about the weather or how she couldn't wait to see more of the kingdom, though once he had grown stronger and more stable she had progressed onto the fallout of the battle, and had even told him the full details of what had transpired between her and Regina, something she decided only her parents and Graham needed to know.

However, instead of the judgement she expected he had kissed her hand and told her how proud he was, as well as offering to speak to Henry about it, something Emma had so far refrained from doing, the expression on her son's face whenever his adoptive mother's name was mentioned always putting her off.

It was only after she'd passed out in her chair that she had been forced into a bed on Doc's orders and told to stay there until she didn't feel like she was dying; she slept for almost three days, emerging with wild hair and near starvation, and being plied with more food than she could eat in a week, clean clothes and a brush, as well as another order to take a bath.

Hence how she learnt that the plumbing was not to her usual standard.

Her mother had then told her kindly but firmly that she could visit her father daily, but was not under any circumstances allowed to stay at his beside all day, every day, because other people wanted to visit him and she needed to get some fresh air.

She had agreed grudgingly.

The next time she saw him-which was the same day when her mother was conveniently elsewhere and wouldn't kick her out into the garden-he told her to give her sword a name, which apparently was _the _thing to do.

She still hadn't come up with one, the only ideas she had being 'Sunlight' because whenever she thought of that day she remembered the flash of her sword, and 'Lightning' for the same reason, which were apparently not good enough for her father who had paled visibly at her suggestions, asking incredulously, "Do you really want to stab someone with _Sunlight?_"

"But then I could have Sunlight and Starlight," she had replied, enjoying how startled he looked at the idea.

"No. Just no. You'll find the right name, and it will have nothing to do with light."

And so she went back to telling him about why she had chosen Starlight as a horse's name when she was a child, and how he had found wandering about the battlefield and safely returned to her.

She had nearly jumped out of her skin when her mother had entered the room, but she only said something tearfully about going full circle, and so Emma had hugged her comfortingly, pulling a face at her Dad over her shoulder.

That was also the day she learnt not to make him laugh when he was supposed to be avoiding anything strenuous, which resulted in his stitches bursting open and Snow scowling furiously at the two of them from her place beside the bed as he was sewn back up.

She felt Graham brush his lips against her jaw, and was startled back into the present.

She smiled, letting go of her trail of thoughts and focusing on him, bringing his free hand to her own lips.

"And now I have to go."

Graham groaned, burying his head in her neck.

"Stay," he murmured, his lips against her skin, and it was all she could do not to drag him upstairs.

"No," she said sternly, talking to herself as much as him. "I have princess duties to attend to."

He snorted, releasing her as she rose to her feet, squeezing his hand lightly and turning to leave.

Her memories of her enchanted sleep had also returned, the words of her father and Graham striking her somewhere she didn't even think existed within her, and she knew she would never forget them, would treasure them always.

She also knew that Graham would never be an orator, something she intended to keep in mind if she ever became Queen; it would clearly be her who would have to address the kingdom, something which no longer filled her with terror and doubt.

Her life was better here, even if she was a Princess who was on speaking terms with Rumplestiltskin-who had disappeared as soon as the curse had broken, much to the relief of everyone, she had found-Cinderella and the Blue Fairy.

And apparently had Little Red Riding Hood as a godmother despite the lack of a christening-her mother didn't seem to care too much about that-but thinking about that hurt her head, because she was almost certain that she was actually older than Red, and had been more of a mentor than a goddaughter to her in Storybrooke, so she pushed the thoughts away abruptly and never mentioned it to anyone.

So maybe Emma looked upon her as more of a cousin than a _godmother_; either way Red didn't seem to mind.

As she opened the door to the hall, Graham's wolf slid in, barely glancing up at her balefully as he made his way to his brother.

"Well hello to you too," she muttered, rolling her eyes.

He was no longer an 'it', not after he had saved her life, and helped to defeat Regina, something Graham never let her forget. She still wasn't sure if he had a name, so she tried not to talk to him at all.

Which was rather easy as he was-after all-a wolf.

He was also a badly behaved wolf, though Graham swore it was just because he missed the freedom of the woods.

"I miss my TV," she had replied hotly, "But you don't see me climbing into other people's baths."

She frowned at the memory, still not seeing the funny side as Henry had promised she would in the future.

If this was her happily ever after, she'd take it, demonic wolf and all.

But there were still two things bothering her: that damn ring, and August.

The former would require a talk with her mother, who was currently keeping Henry from shooting stuff, so that could wait.

The latter, however, could not.

And that was her princess duty of the day.

After climbing three flights of stairs and making a left instead of a right, she eventually found the right door, and knocked quickly, taking a deep breath to steel herself.

A moment later, it opened; it came as a shock to her not seeing August in his customary leather jacket.

He was instead dressed in a loose white shirt, tucked into plain black trousers, with black leather boots.

Basically the male equivalent of her outfit, but she didn't focus on that; the castle's dressmaker already went on at her enough about wearing dresses, she just chose not to listen.

"Princess," August said stiffly, bowing his head ever so slightly.

She shifted uncomfortably, as she always did when people bowed and curtsied to her; she sometimes wondered if she'd ever get used to it.

"August. Hi. Can I talk to you?"

"I'm busy. We're-"

"Leaving, I know," she interrupted. "That's why I just wanted to say…I don't even know. Thank you, I'm sorry, goodbye? Take your pick."

"You have no need to thank me. I didn't do anything," he said quietly, and she knew it wasn't from humbleness, but shame.

"Then I can at least apologise. That day in the woods, I didn't believe a word you said, and I'm sorry. I was distracted with Henry and Regina, and you were asking me to believe in magic, believe that my roommate was my mom and the guy I questioned for murder was my dad. It was too much for me then. I'm sorry," she repeated.

He smiled, glancing down at the floor.

"I forgive you. You did all this, how can I not?"

She nodded, suddenly fighting back tears.

"And now…goodbye."

As much as she had fought against him, August had been something solid in Storybrooke; her ally, her adviser, her friend.

He was a part of her past that was tangible, had been her saviour before _she _became the Saviour, even if she couldn't remember him.  
And yes, he'd left her, let her become lost in the system, but he had come back, even if it was too late and perhaps a little self-serving.

He had believed in her when no one else did, and he was definitely one of the first.

"I've never been good at goodbyes," he muttered, and Emma saw tears in his own eyes.

"Me too."

It was silent for a moment, before August cleared his throat, leaning back.

"I need to get ready, and tell my father to hurry up, and…stuff."

She nodded again, turning to leave.

"Good luck, Emma," he said quietly. "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry too. I let you down badly."

She had always run away, always avoided saying it, but this time she needed to, needed the closure it would bring her.

"Goodbye," she murmured, before smiling at him one last time and walking away, making her way to her mother.

It looked like Henry was going to end up shooting stuff after all.

* * *

"Go on then, tell me what's bothering you. It must be important if you let him run off with Graham," Snow said with a chuckle, watching as Henry did just that, bow already in hand.

Emma sat beside her mother in one of her numerous gardens, watching as Snow delicately began to make a bouquet, no doubt for Emma's room; she already had seventeen vases dotted about the place.

"I know you're the golden rose, but I'm afraid I can't grow them," her mother had told her when she'd delivered the first one, a gold bow tied around the vase. "So I used white and yellow ones instead."

She had since progressed onto other colours and flowers, giving Emma the impression that she had moved into a florist's whenever she entered her room.

But sitting like this-as she had taken to doing whenever she needed quiet and time to think-was oddly comforting to her, reminding her of when she and Mary Margaret had talked over folded laundry.

"Yeah. I needed to-I-"

"You took something of Regina's," Snow said evenly, and Emma heard no judgement in her voice.

"Yeah…a ring," she said softly, glancing up at her every so often. "It was stupid of me. It sounds crazy after everything she did but I feel…_bad_ about it. But I wanted to ask you, is it your father's?"

Snow frowned in confusion, her hands pausing over the vase.

"I don't think so. As far as I know she took her wedding ring off as soon as my father was dead. May I see it?"

Emma pulled it out of her pocket obligingly, resting it in Snow's open palm.

"No, this isn't his," she said after a moment, though she continued to examine it. "Perhaps it was her father's."

"Maybe. Could be her mother's."

"No, she-"

Snow suddenly stiffened, her voice cutting off abruptly as her fingers closed tightly around the ring.

"I think I know whose it is," she said in a strangled voice, her already pale face whitening.

"What? Whose?"

"I think…I think it might be Daniel's," she murmured, a strange expression on her face.

"Daniel?" Emma asked, shifting slightly to face her mother, watching her concernedly.

"Regina's true love."

Snow suddenly rose to her feet, spare flowers falling from her lap.

"Did you want to keep this?" she asked Emma, her tone sharp.

"No," Emma answered immediately, but all she could think was, _Regina had a true love? Really? __**Regina?**_

But the more she thought about it, the more Regina's behaviour began to make sense.

Snow nodded once, before hurrying towards the courtyard.

"Where are you going?" Emma called, jumping to her feet and following her, avoiding the scattered flowers; she had been warned the moment she first entered one of Snow's gardens that if she crushed any of her mother's flowers she would have to plant new ones, and she really hated gardening.

"After Regina was ki-_died, _I took care of her body, found her a grave. I buried her with Daniel by her old home. I think this ring should have the same resting place."

"Can I come with you?" Emma asked, surprising herself as much as Snow.

She looked at her daughter appraisingly, her expression unfathomable.

"Yes. Yes I think you should," she said slowly. "It will be good for you."

And after leaving a message with a passing servant for James, they rode.

Regina's old house was long gone, but Snow found the grave easily, dismounting at the top of the hill.

Emma followed suit, standing before the grave at her mother's side. Silently, Snow passed the ring back to her.

With a sigh, she knelt, digging her fingers into the cool earth until she had made a small hole.

"She must have really loved you," Emma said quietly, dropping the ring into it and pressing the dirt back over to fill it. "She tore the world apart for you."

Still not saying a word, Snow laid her hand lightly on Emma's hair, and Emma felt her guilt lift at her mother's touch.

After a while, she moved, offering her hand to Emma with a smile.

"Come on," she said softly, her eyes warm as they met Emma's. "Let's go home."

* * *

"You know," Snow said thoughtfully as she stood out on her balcony later that evening, James laying awkwardly on the bed in his bandages, his pout in place; he still had another week of bed rest left, something he had protested vehemently that he didn't need. Doc had disagreed. "Regina was right about one thing."

"And what might that be?" James asked, as though he thought she was talking complete nonsense, which in his opinion she was.

He fidgeted slightly, trying to find a way he could lie comfortable, clearly not paying too much attention to his wife.

"She said that the apple didn't fall far from the tree. But she was wrong about it too."

"How so?" he asked distractedly, wriggling lower down the bed and huffing indignantly when he realised it was worse.

"She meant Emma was like me. But she's not. She's so much like you, it's incredible. And I'm proud, I'm proud of you both. My warrior husband and my warrior daughter."

He froze, lying almost flat on his back, staring at Snow in disbelief.

"She's not like me. She's just like you."

"No…you don't see her the way I do. It's a mother's thing. You kept each other alive, you made each other better."

"Technically, Graham made her better," he interrupted, but Snow ignored him as she made her way over to the bed.

"Emma was thrown into this life, just like you. She didn't want it, she didn't ask for it. But look at how she flourishes in it, how well she is loved. She went to war to protect her son, you died to protect her. When I found you after the battle and she was already there telling you stories…oh, Charming. She kept you alive, I don't know how words can do that, but hers did. She has your stubbornness too," Snow added, smiling at him sweetly as she sat beside him, kissing him gently on the cheek.

"Oh, I believe she inherited that from you, dearest wife," he murmured, attempting to sit up so as to kiss her properly.

She laid a stern hand on his chest, effectively pinning him to the bed.

"Do be quiet, dearest husband. I think I hear our beloved daughter shouting at the wolf again."

"What did he do this time?"

Snow was quiet for a moment, listening to the yells echoing up towards them.

"Knocked a serving girl over. Apparently he wanted some chicken," Snow answered with a laugh, and James soon joined in.

"How long do think it will be before she realises the three of them plan these little accidents?" he asked, his voice full of amusement.

"A while yet; I don't think she believes a wolf can be so devious of its own accord."

It was quiet for a moment, before James said softly, "She visits everyday."

"I know," Snow said in a low voice, disapproval clear in her tone. "I told her she could but I hoped she wouldn't. Not in a horrible way…I want her to get used to this life, to walk about the castle, get to know everyone properly."

"I know. I do too," James said gently.

"I also know that she can't wait until you're up and about again. She said she'd like to go riding, just the three of us once you're better."

"She did?"

"She did," Snow echoed, her smile becoming a grin at his delighted expression.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door, Snow throwing a glare at her husband as he attempted to sit up again, pressing down harder on his chest.

"Come in," she called, still keeping a watchful eye on him.

"Hi," she heard, looking up to see Emma waiting shyly at the door.

"Hello," James said cheerfully, and the pout was gone, disappearing as quickly as it always did when Emma was around him.

"I was wondering if you'd like to come downstairs for dinner today."

"Your father-" Snow started but Emma cut her off quickly.

"I know, he can't entertain the kingdom at dinner," she said wearily, and James wondered how many times Snow had told her those exact words. "But it's just me, Henry and Graham. And the wolf," she added, her eyes narrowing slightly.

James' lips twitched, but he forced his face to remain impassive.

"That sounds great. We'll be right there."

Snow's glare returned in full force.

"Doc said you needed bed rest."

"Doc also said that Emma was going to be a boy. Doc is obviously not the be all and end all of medical advice."

"Fine, fine. But if you can't get back up the stairs don't come crying to me," Snow muttered, ignoring Emma's laugh.

"Alright, alright, will you just come on before there's nothing left? That wolf already ate a whole chicken, right as the poor girl put it down."

"Well imagine that," Snow said vaguely, deliberately not meeting James' eye.

"I know. I don't see why he has to eat with us; he is actually a wolf, something Graham refuses to acknowledge."

"Well, I suppose to him he's not," Snow said with a smile. "He is his wolf-brother."

Emma pulled a face.

"And that is why I don't kick him out. Anyway, I was told by Graham and Henry that I have my mother's temper and my father's scowl because of it, so that's not so bad."

"Really?" Snow asked, sounding utterly thrilled by the comments.

"Yeah, I suppose they're right."

"You do?" James asked, clearly baffled; he wouldn't wish Snow's temper on anyone.

"Sure. It's like that old saying, you know, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree? Guess it makes sense."

And with that she was gone, leaving her stunned parents behind.

"Are you coming?" she called a second later, and with a shake of the head, they roused themselves.

"We did good, don't you think?" James asked, tilting his head in Emma's direction.

Snow smiled, taking his hand and helping him sit up slowly, hoping that Emma was waiting at the top of the staircase for them.

"Yes, Charming. We did good. But she still gets her stubbornness from you."


End file.
